


Ciel - A Reimagination of Vladimir Nabokov's Lolita

by nighttime_tea_party



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: AU, M/M, alternative universe, canon divergence from Lolita
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2018-07-18 06:40:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 25
Words: 84,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7303621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nighttime_tea_party/pseuds/nighttime_tea_party
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastian Michaelis does not need to be a demon in order to be a monster; Ciel Phantomhive will still remain his bait.</p><p>Based on an idea I posted on tumblr. Taking the plot of Lolita as a base, we follow Sebastian, a man who finds himself enthralled with the son of his hostess for the summer of 1947.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Lolita](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/221842) by Vladimir Nabokov. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To the first time readers, welcome. To the old readers, welcome back and sorry.
> 
> This is a story about a human Sebastian Michaelis that really doesn't lack any of his demonic characteristics - ever since I read Lolita, I saw similarities in Humbert's and Lolita's relationship with that of Sebastian and Ciel. Especially Humbert's and Sebastian's narcissistic characters resemble each other strongly, although Sebastian lacks the last bit of humaneness that Humbert showcases by letting his self-hatred seep through the lines occasionally. There are striking similarities but also significant differences and that's why I want to write this story and explore my very own turn of events.
> 
> As many people have noticed, this fanfic suddenly disappeared - and I have to say it is my fault entirely. I got reported for plagiarism. I misinterpreted the AO3 TOS and thought I could cite whole passages from the book. I didn't want to just copy-paste the book and I think my readers understood that. I thought I could only build a bridge between my fic, Kuroshitsuji and Nabokov's book if I his book and my writing together but I realise now that that was stupid and I should've tried to entirely make this story up of my own writing from the start. That's why I majorly edited the first five chapters with my own words. I do think this is for the better and now I'm actually glad I was forced to take this opportunity.  
> That being said, there are words that I want to keep - most prominently, the very first lines of Humbert Humbert's ramblings, although I adjusted them to my story. But also terms and phrases that leave their imprint on the story. In the below introduction chapter, you will immediately notice the underlined parts with numbers at the end - in the end notes, these numbers reference the source, you will find the exact page of the issue I cited from in these end notes. There are five cited parts in this chapter. This is an unrepresentative amount of the rest of the story, where only sporadically direct citations will occur.
> 
> I believe that by not using Nabokov's words anymore, this is a Lolita AU fic as much as it is a Kuroshitsuji AU fic. And by chapter five at the latest you will realise that this story is taking its very own path: I do NOT intend to just follow the plot of Lolita brainlessly.  
> I am always open to concrit! I am not a very experienced writer and my English isn't perfect, so I would be thankful for any piece of advice, be it something about my style, my possibly wacky metaphors or just mistakes.  
> Lastly, I hope you will enjoy reading this story! I hope to see you again in later chapters.
> 
> EDIT AFTER COMPLETION: I drew art for the majority of chapters, I'll link the pictures in the author's notes of their respective chapters. It's funny, you can watch me progress over the course of two years.
> 
> [Art for chapter 1](http://nighttimeteaparty.tumblr.com/post/146478404309/sebastian-michaelis-does-not-need-to-be-a-demon-in)

Ciel, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Ciel, a single syllable: The tip of the tongue making a twist, then resting on the palate.

He was the colours of the sky. Foggy grey like November air in the early morning, standing roughly five feet in one sock. He resembled a stark spring noon sky at school: strong, bold and confident. In the lazy evening, he was the mellow reflection that made the deep sea appear blue. He could be a storm cloud hiding the sun. He was the biblical allegory of heaven's messengers when he wanted his way, the fallen one when nobody watched. In my arms, he was always just Ciel. (1)

 

* * *

 

I was born in 1910, Paris, where I grew into a tall, dark and handsome man – my charm resembling the movie heroes stealing away the hearts of the women of our time. Although my father was a gentle, easy-going person, I have to blame his love of the occult for my pandemonic name. Sebastian, not an extraordinary given name per se; coupled with the last name Michaelis, I became a living homage to the great inquisitor and creator of a classification of demons. Now, the highly honoured reader might be inclined to come to the conclusion that this name foreshadowed the deeds of a monster. But first, I ask of you to listen to my confessions to the end, for they are not the confessions of a ruthless beast, but merely of a lovesick fool.

My childhood was a happy one. Although I never learned to know my mother, my widowed father provided me with parental love worth two mothers, as well as a good education. In my adolescent years, I was sent to a boarding school in England, where at the same time my manhood and love for the English language awoke. Dear reader, let me tell you: a boarding school is a cesspool of juvenile sexual frustration, much more so an all-boys one. Luckily, through mutual experimentation and exploration with my peers, I soon found my sexual interests not to be bound by gender. And as the years went by, I embraced my role as a mentor to the younger, less experienced students; by day in French and Mathematics, by night in Physical Education. And upon my graduation, more than one tear was shed.

I continued my education in Oxford, focussing on the beloved English language. Not much of relevance happened in these years, that is, not much else than what I had known from boarding school. Haunted by fond memories of the years this boy became a man, there would, however, develop and ripen a particular taste in arts, crafts and sexuality.

For the reader to understand my further elaborations, I must familiarise him with a certain concept. There is a time in a young human's development, a thin line, the beautiful golden streak on the early morning horizon, the glowing, beautiful point of time when the day has not yet fully begun and only a handful early risers wish their slumber goodbye. Only the nightly wanderer will notice the lights in their rooms turn on, see their figures rise through the windows. And as quickly as the sun forces the moon away and the wanderer loses sight of what is behind the windowpane, these early risers, enchanters of the Neverland between night and day, transform and leave the house and live their day like any other would; their nymphic morning beauty put to rest alongside the moon. These beautiful spectres, unbeknownst to themselves, captivating the poor wanderer and misleading him with their light, I would like to introduce these girls and boys as “nymphets”(2) and “faunlets”(3), respectively.

The golden string spans between the ages of nine and fourteen. Only a moment in a life, yet everything after lacks the golden shine. The heart melts at the relieving view of the rising sun but cannot be bothered to look at the harsh orb at noon. Likewise, these early-risers radiate their most beautiful light only for a matter of moments. And just like not every daybreak blesses us with that spectacle, not every child is a nymphet or faunlet. They hide among age peers from the view of anyone that is not a “nympholept”, unrecognisable to the common man: those that do not share the same romantic sympathies. The nymphet among children will enchant the connoisseur but might not necessarily be the prettiest girl in the group. The adorable pig-tailed girl with the rosy cheeks might be a poster girl for an all-American milk product but her dark-haired friend to the right whose eyes are just a bit too far apart could be the perfect nymphet when an ever so elusive bat of a lash, the tilt of her head, the movement of her limbs will have the expert recognise her, possibly even before she does so herself. The faunlet might not be the best behaved, good one in a group of restless children. His face might be smeared with mud and his knees be bruised but his eyes will be alight with a fire not seen in those around him. I would argue my own roots lie in my faunlethood when I reflect my early years of boarding school.

Of course, I knew better than to act on my raw instincts, for I have always been a civilised individual. I had sworn myself to limit my personal joys to watching the hellenic tempters roam like a lover of the visual arts that cannot paint would: devoting, in great agony, in dread and admiration of the pieces of art he can never touch. My graduation from school meant the beginning of a long way of starving my innermost appetite.

 

The years following tertiary education led me back to Paris. A few small translation jobs, parental financial support and relations formed in recent years granted me the opportunity to concentrate on my personal creative self-fulfilment. It was a fruitful time, I wrote as many as four novels in five years in English and French, one of which has since been translated into four other languages. Raw emotion and straightforwardness sold my work – though, the rawest of emotions, the craving for a spritelet's (to find a term to group my nymphets and faunlets together) sweet taste, I had to hide under layers of language and character distortion.

After this peak phase of creative expression, I so happened to acquire an employment as a university lector. The head of the institute was just as pleased to welcome the fresh breath of a young and successful author among their midst as I was to have an excuse for my creative fatigue and resulting lack of productivity. At this point in my life, talking about writing had become much easier to me than doing the task myself.

This went on for another few years until in the year 1947, life's path led me to New England. I had inherited a small fortune from an uncle of whom my only memory was a faint smell of cigars. I had quit my academic profession at an English Studies institute at a Parisian university, taking the only matter of meaning, my progressing work on a comparative history of French literature for the English-speaking students, with me to the United States. A much needed divergence from life as I knew it; had I just shortly before fought out an ugly divorce with an even uglier woman whom I had only married a year and a half before. The reader needs to understand, I had struggled for a long time: The healthy young man I was, an outlet for my carnal desires was needed. But alas, I am not a reckless idiot and so I forced myself to only take a sip of the golden nectar of spritelet youth in my dreams and fantasies. I bedded adult women for years, my eyes never open when I sunk into the rosy cheeks and tender spritelet flesh in my dreams and in my dreams only. I understood that a connoisseur of the charm of little devils like myself had no choice but to hide his longings. But my marriage with that woman, childless as it remained (thank god!), could not suffice for what roamed in my loins.

The prospect of engaging myself in academic efforts, thousands of miles away from dull Paris, promised to tend to my damaged emotional state. A former colleague at the English institute had arranged a stay for poor, stressed Professor Michaelis in a relative's estate. I was promised the room of the relative's husband's late aunt who had recently passed away. A home with a beautiful garden, surrounded by beautiful greenery, much space to breathe for the last of the couple's children had just left for college, it sounded wonderful.

After a bit of letter correspondence with the married couple, I was formally invited to spend the summer in their mansion located in Ramsdale, a little town in New England. However, after a long and tedious travel, I arrived all dressed up and nowhere to go – there I stood, at the train station, waiting for Mr. Lovely House to pick me up, yet no Mr. Lovely House arrived. In fact, the lovely house had burned down and Mr. and Mrs. had gathered what had survived the flames to seek shelter in a relative's home and only on their way were so kind to at least let me know about the incident through a phone call. They told me, however, that a friend of hers, Mrs. Phantomhive, a lady living a few roads away from the destroyed estate, offered to accommodate me. Describing my momentary mood as annoyed would be a euphemism. In my head, I immediately began to plan my travel back home to Good Old Europe, where houses do not just get in my way by burning down like the fragile little wooden matchboxes in the new world. Yet good manners asked for me to at least pay that Mrs. Phantomhive a visit to politely refuse the offer.

A seven minute car ride away, a wooden horror in a faded grey that most probably used to pride itself on its whiteness years ago forced itself into my view. Hoping he would drive me back in only a matter of moments, I generously tipped the chauffeur and told him to wait for me outside but an old lady across the street called him over in a jovial way and he replied that I could find him there if I need anything else. I was left to myself again, facing the monster in front of me like David faced Goliath, and rang the door bell. A tall woman opened the door. “Monsieur Michaelis, I assume?”

I prefer describing her immediately, to get the task done. A tall but frail woman in her mid thirties with strawberry blonde hair tied high at the back of her head, Rachel Phantomhive could be considered a conventionally attractive woman. Her deep azure eyes told stories of long lost nymphet allure, still reminiscing in her confident demeanour.

The woman invited me to come in. After a little trivial chit-chat, her careful way with words had hinted me at her participation in the local book club: She was very particular about the rules of conversation, though not so particular about the topics.

As she set out to lead me through the house, my resolution of not settling for the summer there became stronger and stronger. No reasoning in the world could convince me of the benefits of spending a whole summer in that pit of suburban modernism and functional eclecticism. Much rather would I take the tedious way back home than scrape a living here by waiting for summer to pass.

 

My thoughts drifted off to considerations about how I would spend my next days dwelling in the hotel room, looking out for a charming guesthouse in the area. But first, I was led upstairs, into “my” bedroom(4). A storage room in size, a workhouse in style. I did my best to hide the shock, nodded and smiled, and went on with the ordeal.

On our way back downstairs we quickly passed the only bathroom in the house, Phantomhive quickly apologising for the mess of wet towels spread across the room, then led me further into the kitchen downstairs, in the corner of the house where dining room and parlour were (5). At the end of the room, from behind a French window, bright greenery surged into the kitchen. “the piazza”, my hostess for the moment explained. And there, with the sudden energy of a geyser shooting up into the air, I lost my heart to the boy lounging on the grass on the other side of the garden – half-naked, fanning himself with a homemade paper fan, lifting his eyes from the book in his other hand to stare at me with the slightest trace of disfavour in his eyes. That dangerous child, source of my personal rise and demise, a devil in disguise. Looking as picture perfect as he always will in my heart: Frail, slightly sunburned shoulders, back bent in a crescent as he rested on his belly, a silvery grey head of hair. Dressed in a polka-dotted black sleeveless shirt, ends tied together in a knot, he hid his milky white chest from my gaze. The little faunlet sat up to better examine me in return, offering me the opportunity to admire the blade of grass-imprinted skin stretching between the shirt and shorts, and in a similar way, his thighs that I would later stain with kisses, only bore the pattern the soft grass inflicted on him. It was then that I realized everything between my first prepubescent self-discoveries and this meeting was just a series of false rudiments of joy. The thirty-seven years I had lived so far all led up to this very encounter. The fascination with and longing for slim spritelet limbs, they were mere foreshadowing and preparation for the impact of passion that flooded all of me on that early summer day. In that moment, when my glance slithered over the kneeling child, his radiant blue eyes blinking at me sceptically, the vacuum of my soul managed to suck in every detail of his bright beauty and lock them within my heart forever. I have not yet lost the ability to judge my situation – I am well aware the judges will discard these elaborations of my mortal soul as the start of a disgusting and sick dislocation from reality, seeking comfort between the legs of a defenceless child. For all I care, about this I do not. Instead I am being so presumptuous as to demand these judges to read to the very end of my confession.

All I remember from there is that I had the most difficult time of my life to keep standing on my feet since I was an infant; even more difficult proved the task to follow the Phantomhive woman down the stairs into my Garden Eden.

“I have to apologise for my moody little Ciel. I will have him introduce himself properly later. But would you take a look at my lilies!”

“Wonderful lilies. A wonderful, wonderful sight!”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) altered from Nabokov, Vladimir - Lolita - Page 7, chapter 1 - Penguin Classics edition  
> (2), (3) terms coined by Nabokov, adopted in my rendition  
> (4) Nabokov, Vladimir - Lolita - Page 40, chapter 10 - Penguin Classics edition  
> (5) Nabokov, Vladimir - Lolita - Page 41, chapter 10 - Penguin Classics edition


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Art for chapter 2](http://nighttimeteaparty.tumblr.com/post/146772469594/chapter-2-of-ciel-a-reimagination-of-vladimir)

At this point I would introduce Exhibit A – a pocket diary bound in black imitation leather, with a golden year, 1947, engraved, in its upper-left corner. However, it was destroyed and all I can provide are my recreations, though rest assured I remember its content by heart, for it was the only companion I could share my woes and longings with. Keeper of my secrets from that day I moved into the Phantomhive house, covering most of June.

Thursday. Very warm. Sat outside in the piazza, reading the newspaper. Ciel came outside to read too. He spends much of his time reading. Outside because Rachel wants her son to “tan a little, load up on Vitamin D”. Ciel groans in protest, does as he is told anyway. Like everyday. But I agree with his mother – she offers me the opportunity to watch the little slim porcelain doll crouching in the shadow, behind sunglasses and his mother's ridiculously huge sunhat, twisting backwards and forth until he finds a comfortable position and leans back. Resting against a tree, just his freshly sunscreened legs are kissed by the sun – oh, I am convinced the sun, too, would love to creep beyond your shins! Those scandalously short shorts would be the perfect piece of clothing to slip its hands beneath. But wait, there's more! For a few seconds, the marvelous little faunlet boy laid away the book to knot his t-shirt up, exposing to my view that beautiful skinny stomach whose tracing ribs I so desperately want to retrace with my lips.  
And yet, the boy does not speak a single word to me! I sit so closely but all the while he seems so far away. Perfectly normal, according to Mrs. Phantomhive. What a difficult child.

Tuesday. I have been spending much of my time not working on my comparative history, but instead reading in the piazza, hoping for the boy to make his appearance too. And as usual, he would. I am proud to say that over the past days he started addressing me, asking for salt at dinner or wishing me a good morning. Still in overwhelming contrast to old Phantomhive, though, who will grab the thinnest, driest straw of a reason to talk to me. Do I need a refill for my drink that I just now took the very first sip of? Is the chair comfortable or should she bring a cushion? The burden that comes with good looks. She fell for my sleek appearance, enigmatic smile and sonorous voice. I just can't help being a woman's dream incarnated, the mysterious bad boy character whose life's purpose is to break the heroine's heart, or so Hollywood would make you believe. How easy life could be if only I could find joy in the common heroine!

Wednesday. Finally, I think, I – we – that is, Ciel and I – had a breakthrough! I had noticed the boy's sideway glances into my direction. When his mother went inside to prepare lunch today, he finally gathered himself up and, hesitantly, walked towards me, eyes fixated on the book in my hands.  
“What are you reading?”  
My heart raced at that angelic voice directed towards me.  
“The Prisoner of Chillon. Lord Byron.”  
He stepped closer.  
“I've never read anything from him. Is it any good? Can you recommend it? I'll be done with my book soon.”  
I felt pierced by the starkness of his eyes' azure blue.  
“I can but wouldn't you prefer something befitting your age?”  
He snorted.  
“Don't you underestimate me.”

Yes, I am positive we bonded today.

Thursday. Mrs. Phantomhive went out to run errands. I enjoyed an afternoon home alone with my sunburned pearl. The woman does not need to force him outside anymore - he goes there on his own, much to my liking.  
He came outside with his almost finished book jammed under his arm, carrying a tablet with a large glass of ice-cooled water and a bowl of cut fruit and tripped on a root. The glass did not break; the bowl, however, did and cut its way into the boy's calve. After exclaiming a word his mother would have scolded him for, he waited for me to return from the bathroom with bandages. How happy he was to have grown-up Mr. Michaelis tend to his wound! I told him to just call me Sebastian. Oh, the sound of my name from the boy's mouth!  
The beguiling child watched me as I examined the wound, gently wiping away the blood in order not to press possible glass shards any deeper. Thank you, dear glass shard, for granting me the opportunity to touch this graceful leg today. When I disinfected the wound, I stroked his soft thigh as a means of comfort; for whose comfort I will not say. The closeness enabled me to perceive his odour. A mix of sweet sunscreen and pubescent pheromones. And then I bandaged his wound almost as tightly as my trousers had grown.

Friday. Keeping this diary is madness but too thrilling not to do. I don't believe my handwriting is decipherable on a quick glance, but nonetheless I need to take care.

Saturday. Mrs. Phantomhive joined me in the piazza just as Ciel was sent to bed. The woman approached me to talk about her son. After his father's death, the poor boy changed, she explained. They had been very close and when his father died, it seemed like a part of the child's heart died too. Death was not kind to him: Before his father's decay, he had to wish his little brother goodbye, who died at two from severe illness. Today, he is a reclusive child, not shy but simply disinterested in others. At least he is a good boy, studies eagerly and ambitiously, she sighed. But he keeps too much to himself for her not to worry. And it seems he wants to grow up as fast as possible, leaving hardly any room for the usual joys of childhood. But how wonderful it is that he seems to open up to me! A very rare thing, according to her. She is convinced I remind him of his father, for she, too, sees resemblance in me.

Monday. I have been keeping my door wide open while working throughout the last few days. It took until today for this to lure the boy in. As he planned to pass my room, he reluctantly stopped below my door frame. I inquired whether I could do anything for him. He replied that he was just curious what exactly I have been working on. I invited him to take a look at my desk where, closed shut, this diary, too, was lying among my stationery. The boy's curiosity asked for an explanation that surpassed a mere single-sentenced reply. He made me feel invited to go into further detail than anything I had ever told his mother! As he leaned over my scripts, looking through the notes, I laid my hand in his waist to draw him even closer, so he could take an even better look, and imitate a fatherly gesture, or so I could sense the warmth radiating from his body while I was describing the challenges of introducing the English-speaking reader to French literature. He listened eagerly, asked for clarifications on some parts and when we were finished talking about the book, he turned his head around to face me, just the length of a nod away, and looked at me as if in anticipation. My hand still in his waist, I weighed between the pros and cons of locking my lips with his, the way he looked at me, I am convinced he was in anticipation of just that, I really am. But just as I inhaled the bit of air that one inhales before kissing, or talking, or doing anything really with one's mouth, the mother called for Ciel to set the table for lunch and he followed her demand instantly. To hell with that woman!  
Let me state this: Again and again I am surprised by this lovely little faunlet. When he is not tempting me by showing off his scarcely clothed budding body or alluring me with his non-verbal mannerisms, he provides me with the pleasantness of being able to talk about myself and my interests. Everyone likes to talk about oneself and one's interests! And even more so when offered an interested listener.

Tuesday. Elizabeth Midford from down the road, one of Ciel's classmates, came over for a visit. One of his very few friends, I was told. A perfect example of a pretty and charming girl lacking every nymphet allure.  
The two of them sat down to play a game of rummy. Elizabeth, seemingly the incarnation of the concept “the more, the merrier”, asked me to join them. Embarrassed by the childish nature of his friend's request, Ciel assured me that there was no need for me to lower myself just out of courtesy. But I accepted thankfully, not least because of a spark of jealousy that I had felt before when the children sat together. Completely unjustified jealousy, I acknowledged when I closely watched them being friends, good friends but nowhere room for anything more than that.

Wednesday. Very hot. Wearing nothing more than a pair of swimming trunks, my celestial Ciel cooled himself by pouring water from a garden hose all over his body. A hearty sigh of relief only locked my eyes tighter on that view I could not look away from in the first place. What's more, as if this was a bad motion picture, his mother came out to hand the boy a popsicle! Raspberry, his favourite. Almost comically perfect timing in retrospect. As usual, he sat down to read, I had recently lent him the Byron. Lounging on his tummy, he enjoyed his read and caressed his popsicle. Pink lips softly enclosed the tip, taking on some of its colour. When that wasn't enough, he nibbled on it, sucked the colour out, occasionally pushed the ice cream further into his eager mouth whenever he felt like it. Oh, how it agonized me! Did you know what you were doing to me, little boy? Thank god the mother was busy inside because otherwise, she would have been witness to my heavy breathing while I imagined to thrust myself between the boy-child's lips, in and out and in; first gently, then relentlessly; making him gag on my length. And when I would come, the boy would greedily swallow all of me, and tell me he preferred my taste over the raspberry popsicle.  
Ah, if only!

Thursday. I was working when Ciel crept into my room. Embarrassment shining through his demeanour. He admitted he had just eaten my piece of cake, and that he was really sorry, and he owed me a little favour but if I would please not tell his mother because she doesn't want the boy to eat that many sweets all the time.  
Oh dear boy, you could eat all of me and I would not mind.

Friday. Ciel approached me to converse about the Byron book that he had read the other day. He told me he preferred prose. But that it was fine. Well written but a bit melodramatic. I told him that's just the way Lord Byron is supposed to be. Maybe he'll understand when he's older. He gave me the cold shoulder for using his age against him and let me know that _that's not it_ and that I am _a jerk_.  
Later that day, he returned to tell me I could recommend him books anytime. Oh, my beautiful bird. I might borrow you my copy of Teleny and leave bookmarks at my favourite parts.

Saturday. Ciel had a fight over the telephone with one of his school friends. His voice roared through the house when he proclaimed that he sees no need in meeting when they meet each other daily all semester long. The moment he hung, up, I could hear his mother starting to argue with him. I assume it must have been something along the lines of, “You are a really mean boy,” “You should care about your friends more,” to which he would reply, “why should I pretend to care”

Monday. Old Phantomhive asked me to accompany her to the city to help her pick a birthday present for a friend of hers, lauding my taste in fine things. I am relatively convinced now that this woman, to my horror, is taking her first steps at trying to make herself my new Mrs. Michaelis.  
I could not think of a single reason not to accompany her and being the old-world gentleman I am, I just could not be rude and decline. I thought that maybe I could at least take the chance and run some errands on my own.  
My dove, I could swear, showed the slightest little trace of jealousy when it was just the two of us going out. The thought kept me busy all the way downtown.

Tuesday. Schoolmates came over. Ciel was unhappy with that but Rachel left him no choice. The children were terribly loud and I stayed inside for most of the day. On my way downstairs to grab myself a glass of iced water, I passed a window looking down into the piazza. Elizabeth had come over and had just joined forces with a plain, freckled, bespectacled boy to splash the other two, my beloved Ciel and another charming faunlet boy whom I had first assumed to be a girl. I heard my opinionated darling shout, “Hold it, McMillan! Elizabeth! You're flushing away Harcourt's ice cream!” and then, not all that loud, “why can you kids not act a little less immature for a second!”  
I wondered what kind of “mature” activities he would have preferred. And then my mind drifted off into spheres far beyond. What kind of mature entertainment, I wondered, would be more to his liking?

Wednesday. Ciel spent the breakfast quarrelling with his mother. He would never invite the kids over again. Mrs. Phantomhive reminded him of how she heard him laugh with the others multiple times. An expression of his resignation for the day, he insisted.  
Later that morning he came to talk to me, believing I would understand him better than his mother. I explained that whether he likes it or not, he will always need to get along with people he has not a trace of sympathy for; that this hardly changes with age. The boy asked me for personal experience with people I do not get along with, of which I had plenty to share. I must say I thoroughly enjoy this little devil's spiteful traits.  
In the afternoon, Rachel asked me for a one-on-one to tell me in private how happy she is to see how well I get along with her son – to a point where she fears the end of summer and my departure, and that Ciel would miss me. And then she told me what a shame it is for a man like me to not be happily married, that she cannot imagine what woman would let a man go that gets along with children so well. She had found it to be a rarity for a man not to be put off at the thought of living with a child that is not his. Oh, if she knew how much joy I take in living with this child that is not mine!


	3. Chapter 3

 

Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury, you are now familiar with the essence of my notes. The ordeal would stay the same day after day. A temptation so close to my claws that it dared to overwhelm me, yet thank god, or the devil, or Zeus, or whatever higher entity was keeping me company, that I had had plenty of experience satiating my hunger with the help of my vibrant imagination. The mere passing of a touch could grant me bliss if I just let it do. That was enough, I wanted to believe. Yes, I wanted to believe but I could not, not anymore. But the devil, it must have been him, took joy in watching me. And in an attempt to break the repetitive daily scheme, it seems, the lord granted starving, dying Sebastian a nib – just a nib – of that forbidden fruit's nutritious flesh.

One sunny Sunday, I overheard an argument downstairs that I had almost had myself before, if Rachel had not known her place with me. Good Christian widow Phantomhive, who was about to leave for church, had raised a son with no particularly Christian values to speak of. _Instead of sitting on the wooden benches and having to listen to the delusive talk of a lonely old man and singing along to brainless chants,_ he exclaimed, _he would rather scrub the floor all morning_. And that was fine by her, let her son scrub the floor if he so pleases, and the floor better be clean enough to eat from at her return, and then she left her son behind, and she would probably pray a rosary or two for his lost soul at her destination.

I walked down the stairs as soon as the mother dragon had left her nest. Ciel eyed me in slight disbelief of his victory – or was it a victory? The house was rather large for a lone boy to clean in just a matter of hours.

“What can I offer you in order to help me do this and not tell my mother,” the boy requested, expressionless and in the most monotonously serious and professional voice that I had ever heard a twelve-year-old talk in.

_Wrong question._

“I'll do pretty much anything. That means, I won't do anything that would particularly please mother. Not now.”

_Wrong addendum._

It was time to avert the worst possible outcome. “Ciel, you are lucky today because I'm a little stuck with my work at the moment and would rather do anything other than be a prisoner to my desk.” But why not make the best out of the situation. “I'm fine with you owing me something for a later day.” _You shall owe me – let's not make this about what I truly want, though_.

The business-man-mask fell from his face. He mumbled a few words of gratitude and then advised me to follow him to the storage room.

The concept of Ciel standing beneath the doorframe, one foot in the storage room, picking up the cleaning supplies, was absurdly interesting. The boy, still dressed in his immaturely short sunday trousers and pristine white dress shirt, the frail child whose tender hands had rarely known physical labour, was about to scrub floors on his own will – well, not entirely. Nonetheless, it was clear that he preferred the task over joining his mother for the holy mass.

He handed me a bucket and a couple of cleaning cloths, then ordered me to fill the bucket and follow him to the hallway. Gladly I obeyed. I placed the bucket in the middle of the hallway and Ciel sat down next to it. Shirt sleeves rolled up and a cloth in his right hand, he lowered himself onto all fours, legs slightly parted and back arched inward a little rounder than looked healthy, yet very inviting to my curious eye. The boy's muscle tension lacked terribly in strength, it usually showed in his posture when he read his books, or the backaches he complained about so often. But right now, it showed in his rear pointing towards me in a most obscene manner.

“What are you waiting for back there,” my sweet little faunlet exclaimed and thereby disrupted my musings.

“Are you convinced it is a good idea to do the cleaning in your Sunday clothes? You will get yourself dirty.” Not exactly what I had been thinking about but a fair point all the same.

“But that's the intention. Watch me get myself dirty, honestly, watch me.” and with an unexpected dedication, he began to polish arbitrary spots on the parquet with a violent force that had me worry for the floor's poor life. I submerged my own cloth in the bucket and started my cleaning procedure. Silently, we rubbed. One definitely more aggressively than the other.

Until I broke the silence, “God is dead, isn't he.”

The boy sat up. “Huh?”

Proceeding with my part of the cleaning, I explained, “The earlier argument reminded me of that. God is dead. And you, Ciel, killed him. You have slain the Lord and taken his place.”

The boy gave me a quizzical look.

“Your mother is a woman of strong faith. You, however, her own flesh and blood, completely disregard the force of believe that she draws her strength from. God is killed by the non-believers just like a fairytale that isn't told will be forgotten forever. And thereby, the killers free themselves of god's boundaries and become gods themselves, don't you think?”

Ciel thought about my question for a moment, then agreed, “Yeah, I've always thought that only by 'freeing ourselves from the lie that is god', as you say, our minds can be free.”

“But isn't this freedom a double-edged sword? Does the non-believer believe in sin if there is no god to punish it? What keeps the non-believer from sinning?”

The boy crossed his arms and thought for a brief moment. “But in this world of many gods, one god punishes the other's sin, doesn't he.” What a surprisingly optimistic attitude of his. I had come to appreciate the boy's cynicism, yet the sudden burst of innocence sent an even pleasanter shudder down my spine. “...either that, or we will destroy each other in a modern Ragnarök.” Well, there we were again.

For a while, we did nothing but clean. I more successfully than Ciel, whose strategy seemed to be wiping in uncoordinated circles, one moment in front of, the next right behind him. I could not help but tease him for his helplessness, the Young Master who had never had to do any physical labour before. What a spoiled child he was! If I can talk like that, I might as well show him how to do it properly, he barked back at me.

Of course, I would never let an opportunity to get closer to my beautiful, helpless little faunlet go to waste. Thirsting, self-aware Sebastian stood up, walked toward the irked little imp and encircled him, pressing him closer to the ground with the weight of the approacher's chest on the boy's weak back. I placed my left hand next to him on the ground and took his right hand in my other to guide it on the floor. The bold act of drawing close to him like that alone was enough for my manhood to swell. It grew in volume when I could take his smell in, a little larger even when Ciel exhaled a little call of surprise. I had to take care so that despite my physical closeness, the boy would not feel the mountain peaking in his direction. I would speak wise words of advice and wipe his hand over the floor and with every moment that passed, I felt the clearness of my sharp mind fade, and although it had only been a matter of seconds, the moments felt like a sweet eternity to me, and little harm did he do to my state of serenity when Ciel barked at me that he understands, he can do this alone, so if I would let go of him because this is starting to get weird. And I felt his elbow in my ribs and it felt like I was struck by cupid's arrow, who had missed the target, but my heart was His already, anyway.

I went back to the area that I had cleaned at before and for a while neither of us said a word. While I wiped silently, I watched the child from behind, on his fours, making little sounds of effort and exhaustion. My trousers grew tighter and in my mind, I painted the most beautiful pictures of the child, of me turning him onto his back and spreading his lean limbs apart, and kissing and touching and tainting him. And all the while, I polished and polished the floor, like a madman I polished the filth away as if it would help condone the sins in my dreams.

Eventually, the hallway was clean. In fact, I am convinced it had not been that clean in years. Only when I turned around, I realised that my little boss had walked up to me from behind, bucket full of cleaning water in both hands, to tell me to stand up. But in my surprise, while turning around, I accidentally punched the bucket, to his surprise. The impulse followed a clumsy step backwards, to whose consequence the boy tripped over his own feet. I could not watch as fast as half of the bucket spilled across Ciel.

The boy's mouth could spill many filthy words but seldom had I heard more than at that very moment. And I, for one, could not help but chuckle. “At least now you got yourself as dirty as you wanted to.” Since the boy was less amused by the situation, I apologised quickly, knelt down and offered my hand. Ciel was quick to take the hand but instead of taking it as a form of help, he pulled me down and spilt the remainder of the bucket onto me. There we lay, soaking wet of dirtied water, on the ground we had just cleaned so thoroughly. And mind me, I had still to worry not to let the boy beneath me get in contact with my hidden manhood, so consequently, the most abstract coordination of bodies had resulted. My forehead came to rest on the cold and solid ground next to his chest (I had preferred my head to collide with what awaited below instead of my lower body, so I fell accordingly), his armpit fitting perfectly around the top of my head. Beneath my fingertips I sensed, tracing through thin, wet fabric, one of the pinkish nipples that I wanted to kiss so dearly; my other arm entangled itself with another of his limbs and my lower body half collapsed on the wet ground next to my darling.

Where we touched, it felt like we were melting into one. The cooling feel the wet clothes created on my back stood in juxtaposition to the warmth that was created by our touching bodies. I had already been so aroused before that the mere friction of his torso against mine as he fidgeted a little was enough for me to reach the serene point of _la petite mort_ , the sweet release. A small gasp I made was interpreted by my joy-bringer as the reaction to my head hitting agains the floor. Lucky me, for that granted me the opportunity to remain on top of my darling's beautifully moist body for a little while longer, pretending to need a few seconds to come to my senses again for reasons diverting from the truth. Ciel apologised and asked me whether I was alright. He was afraid I had hit my head too hard but a few words of reassurance that I was alright later, I gathered myself up and offered my hand again to assist Ciel, and this time, it was taken as an aid, instead of an opening.

I advised the boy to take a bath and told him I would take the full responsibility for the cleaning session's poor results, to both of which he gladly agreed. I would also have to take a bath later, but first, I was content with sitting down for a while and reminiscing the escapade. Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury, will you not notice my best intentions! I had finally found relief without compromising the chastity of my land lady's son!

That son's voice pulled me out of the thick mist in my thoughts once more. “Concerning what we talked about earlier,” he began, “In a way, I find the thought of god being dead comforting. It suggests that if there once was a god, he might have meant well with mankind. A god like that sounds better to me than one that created man to see him suffer. Man's sin became greater than god and killed him. Cruelty is man's greatest creation, like we were god's. I wonder where this might lead us.” And with that, he disappeared, leaving me unable to reply.

If god had not died yet, he certainly did when I came that day.

 

Shortly after the boy had settled in the bathroom, the telephone rang. It was Mrs. Phantomhive, who called from the Midford house. After a brief explanation as to why I could not get her son to the phone and an apology on my side, the woman asked me to pass the message on to him that he shall come to lunch with the befriended family.

Had my self from a day later had the chance, he would have told me not to let the boy go that noon.

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

In blissful solitariness, I had lunch downtown. I took my time but the Phantomhive house was still empty at my return, leaving me alone in my elation. A very welcome opportunity to let my reflections of the morning roam freely.

With nobody else to do it, I lauded my performance myself. Had I not found heavenly solace in my celestial love's touch, in his image right to my hands – I had made him my lover without his knowing, without impinging on his purity. What more did I need than receiving this much without having to take anything from him! Nothing more than this I needed. No will of his against me, no reason to worry for his security or well-being. I had done no harm that day. Just the clouded likeness of the child offering himself to me in my hazy head was enough.

Or so I told myself. The mirage of perfect, attainable, soulless Ciel in my fantasies revealed itself but an allusion to the hunger that now haunted me more than ever before. The serpent had granted me nothing more than the smell, not even a bite, of the forbidden fruit, and now I wanted to devour all of it. Peel the apple, reveal its sweet flesh, dig my teeth and my whole existence into it. And nurture off its sweet and sour carbohydrates. I had frequently played through an imaginary scenario where I would narcotise the child while the mother was away, undress him and explore his defenceless body, move his limbs like a doll's, hold him against me, molest him, have my way with him, and lay my lips onto an area only he could find, to leave a memento of something he had no memories of whatsoever. But learning from my most recent experience, the fantasy had lost its appeal. What worth is the lifeless, obedient doll when what one really wants is the obstreperous oddball? Much sweeter to me would be the taste of Ciel's final indulgence after a bit of provocative struggling, not unlike the unapologetic bucket attack agains me earlier that morning.

All of me ached for my little darling and finally, no – not finally – no Ciel came home, just his senior. The boy had been taken to the movies by the Midfords.

Dinner that evening was plain. It had been a perfect day, Phantomhive apologised, so she couldn't leave in time for preparations for a proper Sunday dinner. Mrs. Midford was an engaging person, Rachel explained. She had inspired her to make a decision. Elizabeth was leaving for summer camp tomorrow. Didn't that sound like a wonderful option for her own boy as well. Leave him no chance but to get along with his peers. The children would stay for the rest of the summer.

My darling would be taken from me the instant I felt closest to him so far. It is astounding how quickly a mood can shift a hundred and eighty degrees. I blamed a headache acquired by the earlier fall that suddenly came back to haunt me for my visible change of spirit. Phantomhive asked me whether she ought to call an ambulance, she had heard about the accident from her Ciel, I might have suffered a concussion. I dismissed the offer.

She continued to elaborate in depth, “It could support the growth of Ciel's character. His attitudes are getting out of hand as of lately. You can probably easily imagine the heated fight between us that unfolded when the decision was made. To be honest, I don't know what else to do anymore. I asked the Midfords to take Lizzy and him to watch a movie so he would calm his temper in the meantime, I can't lead a level-headed conversation with him today. I imagine we'll have a few tough days ahead of us until Thursday, that's when I will drive him to the camp. Are you convinced I shouldn't call an ambulance? You look terrible, if I may say so. At least promise me to see a doctor tomorrow if the headache is still there by then. Anyway, I think the great outsides will turn out to be a lot more fun to a young boy like him than looming over old books and the radio and throwing tantrums at the slightest suggestion of doing anything else all summer long. I believe that now that he finally seems to open himself up to someone new, that is you, monsieur, is the perfect time to push him in the cold water. May the community of peers, and lack of familiar faces, help him to overcome his antisocial behaviour, help him form his character in ways I can't. Thank you for reaching out to my son, you might have done more good than you could ever think you have.”

“Madam, are you convinced this really is for the better?” The most embarrassingly bad attempt at persuasion ever made.

“I confess,” said Phantomhive, “I hate to make him go. But his moods and fiendishness put me in front of a challenge I can't seem to handle. My little boy is starting to grow up but as his mind grows independent, his lifestyle seems to turn into unstoppable recluse and dependence on being pampered. I think we need to take this chance.”

How wonderful! Now the fruit of my own effort, personality and looks; the wonder of the boy's frozen heart finally opening up to the Hero, would be stolen away from my hands, and the boy would be punished all the same. What makes the woman believe that just because charming, handsome Sebastian Michaelis could approach her son, now everybody else could?

“I see your appetite is suffering from the headache as well. Would you like to retreat for the day? Or can I offer you something else?”

Retreat.

 

On the next day, mother and son went shopping for necessities and bribes for the camp stay. Among these bribes for the boy novels and comic books (he preferred to mostly hide his childish love for those from me and instead enjoy them privately, in the safe zone that was his room – I could not not be reminded of my very own shameful private joys) for rainy days at camp U. They couldn't fight his bad mood, though. As was to be expected. Instead, Ciel mostly withdrew to his room, to avoid any further strainingly pointless arguments. I, too, preferred to search the stillness of my own bedroom, as numbing as it might have been. Solitarily, I started planning my very own summer escape to the seaside, as well as a timely return for the start of the new semester. With the lonely prospect of the upcoming months without Ciel, I couldn't stand the thought of staying in the sorry Phantomhive house.

On Tuesday, when Ciel and mother returned after another shopping trip, the boy had dinner in his room. He felt offended because the woman had claimed that his respected Sebastian, too, agreed on the camp plans. As a natural consequence, the boy no doubt felt this was all a ploy against him. How dare her pull me into this conflict I wanted no participation in whatsoever!

The next day, I approached Ciel jokingly, meaning to be friendly. Everything I got in return was a frozen shoulder – cold would be too euphemistic a word. No trace of our usual exchanges. I had expected his familiar sassy but playful stings, just enough to hurt a little, but instead he stabbed right through me by saying nothing at all. That evening, the boy skipped dinner entirely, washed his hair and went straight to bed.

I felt almost affronted by the thought of Ciel considering that I wanted him away from the house to approach his mother. The thought of it made me sick. The truth was, I feared the outcome of this separation.

My love for Ciel was eternal but Ciel, _my_ Ciel, was not. The 14 th of December would mark his thirteenth birthday. That meant only some two more years until the demise of his faunage. Ciel would turn into a “young lad”, then grow of age and nothing would be left of my Ciel, the only _true_ Ciel to me.  The Ciel whose cingulum pectorale had not yet broadened, the boy of soft skin and full, ash-coloured hair and naughty way with words when irritated (1). Gone he would be.

I was supposed to lose two precious months of faunage to the fiendish Camp U. Two months lost forever! Fate proved not to be in my favour after all.

A single scene of solace granted itself to me on Thursday, moments before I would be left behind.

That day, I had little desire to slip out of bed. If the only form of goodbye were as cold as my treatment had been the previous two days, I preferred sleeping through the whole departure. But suddenly, there came a tapping, as of someone gently rapping at my chamber door! Not waiting for me to gather enough strength to get to my feet, Ciel stormed into my room. He had sought me out to say a proper goodbye while his mother was packing the car. At first, criticism of my not appearing on my own seemed appropriate, though. And then, shifting from one foot to the other and avoiding my stare, he tried to find words of goodbye befitting his unsentimental ideal version of himself. I helped him a little,

“Let me tell you a secret, Ciel, but don't tell your mother I told you, will you?”

Ciel glanced at me.

“I would rather have you here for the summer. The house will be terribly boring without your terror.”

“Tch.”

“I really mean it.”

“I know...”

A pause. Then the boy proceeded, “I can't wait for this ordeal to end and return to places and faces I've grown used to.”

“Does that mean you will miss me?”

“Hmph.” just that, no agreement but no denial either.

“Will you give me a hug before you leave?”

Ciel hesitated, made half a step back, and then stepped forward to wrap his arms around sleepy Sebastian. “If you insist. You helpless freak.” And he hugged me just a little tighter than necessary, and I reciprocated, and like that we stood there just a little longer than necessary, and I enjoyed it.

At that moment, I realised that the boy did not usually accept, let alone search for body contact, and that Ciel had in the beginning often been awkward about my ever so light touches. But it seemed that by constantly advancing, I forcibly pushed my physical presence into my darling's difficult to conquer inner fortress (like the kind of friend that forces himself into a group and by time becomes an accepted, if not even treasured part of the round) and now that I had made it there, I was allowed to draw his little waist against mine. Even though I wished for so much more, I applauded myself for even getting this far with this unapproachable handful.

Still in my hardly presentable sleeping slacks and dressing gown, I escorted Ciel to the car where his mother already waited for him. There I stood, just like old Miss Opposite across the street, and waved my darling goodbye.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) altered from Nabokov, Vladimir - Lolita - Page 72, chapter 15 - Penguin Classics edition


	5. Chapter 5

When I returned indoors, I could still feel Ciel's thin waist melting into my hands, his silky hair brush against my cheek, I could still smell his warm skin. My target now was his room; his closet, to be precise. In a fit between frenzy and hysteria, I dug through his clothes, in search of a memento, a piece of Ciel-smelling cloth that I could comfort myself with. And there it was, the holed, ancient abomination of a pyjama shirt: a bit torn on one of the seams: His favourite, it seemed, while home, but nothing to be seen by the outside eye. The boy and his mother had agreed on investing in new pyjamas, in benefit of unpresuming Sebastian, the man that could not have been happier about finding any other piece of clothing waiting for him at home. I sat down on Ciel's bed, buried my face in the dusty blue textile, mused about the good weeks we had had, then stood up again to retrace the last steps that I imagined Ciel must have made through the house in order to check for any almost left behind items. When I eventually passed the kitchen counter, I found a stark white envelope, ornamented only with the letters “Mr. M”, right beneath the kitchen shelf where old Phantomhive stored the tea and her horridly horrid barley coffee. I laid the beloved piece of cloth aside for a moment to focus my attention on the newly obtained artifact. Ladies and Gentlemen, for a distorted moment I mistook the letter's scarily perfect handwriting for a certain schoolboy's attempt at emphasising his maturity but I was soon taught better:

 

_This is a proposal: I do not love you but I want to marry you. I kindly ask of you to read this letter to the very end before you dismiss it._

_We have gathered in this house as three lonely individuals. A wife that lost her husband, a son that lost his father and a husband left behind by his wife [I am to be blamed for this misconception of hers]. In this odd assembly, for the first time in years, I feel this loneliness of ours lifting its weight. Fate and an unfortunate fire granted me a fatherly reminder of what a happy home meant for a mother as well as for a child._

_I am writing this letter as a mother primarily and a woman secondly. I will be completely honest of my intentions: As I said, I do not love you, although a certain likeness of yours to my beloved Vincent up in the heavens draws me into you. I have always trusted my instincts and have seldom regretted doing so and as such, I believe you a good and honest person, although a bit reserved. I do not love you now but I think I can grow to love you over time. Why would I want to do that, you might ask yourself? The answer is Ciel. The answer is always Ciel. I am worried about Ciel. I am putting the following burden on you: My son will soon not be a child anymore. But as a growing young man, he will need a father figure more than ever before, even more so considering his struggles with forming friendships. When you first arrived at our humble home to enjoy this summer, my primary worry was whether my son will non-resistantly accept you here. The worry has evolved into whether he would non-resistantly let you go at the end of the summer. I came up with a plan. I would send him away to a summer camp and face you with an ultimatum in the meantime. Either leave the Phantomhive house for good if you feel you cannot take the (admittedly enormous) burden of becoming my child's step father or stay, marry me, provide emotional security to my growing son and enjoy the assets of a marriage to a good American wife. Yes, I am writing this as a desperate woman. Yes I know, no man in his right mind would dream of a marriage under these conditions. Yes, I am well aware you think of me as out of my right mind. But this is me clutching at the last straw._

_Please hear out the benefits of this potential marriage: First of all, I could grant you US American citizenship. Maybe that might be desirable to you. Secondly, my husband left us with a small fortune, which I do not like to spend but could make good use of in a marriage. Thirdly, I would grant you stability and comfort in a good housewifely manner, day and night._

_Maybe your stoic old-world mannerisms have been hiding a liking for my person all along. Or maybe you could find solace in what I can offer and think you can even fall in love with me someday. Sometimes, I like to think, that can be the case. Perhaps my imagination is just too vivid._

_I do not want to pressure you into deciding to stay, please be aware of that! Please do not stay if you disagree with these conditions. I am writing this letter just for the very low chance that it might not be of no avail after all. If you do decide to turn my proposal down, and I expect this to be the case, then please see yourself out by the end of the day because I do not want to return to the face of a man in front of whom I have made the most helpless fool of myself. If by the end of the day I meet you in my house, I consider my proposal to be accepted._

_When you leave, kindly leave behind an address so that I could refund the twelve dollars I owe you till the end of the month. And do not forget to leave the key on the desk on your room._

_Goodbye, Monsieur Michaelis._

_Kindly yours,_

_Rachel Phantomhive_

 

Granted, after all this time, I could only summarise the essence of the letter but do trust me, what I remember, I remember correctly. Similar to my habit of keeping a diary, I kept written tokens of personal bearing and liked re-reading them at various occasions. The letter was a favourite of mine because, although painfully preposterous, it marked another sudden change in luck, perhaps among the most important ones. Right then and there, I read it again for the first time, to reassure myself its content hadn't been a maniac's feverish delusion. And then I read it again, to reassure myself that this was not a trick of some kind, either a bad joke of Ciel or of the Phantomhive woman herself. And then I read it again just for the thrill of it. And then I knew I had to keep it as a memento of god's good will with me, a lucky charm, if you will.

Mrs. Rachel Phantomhive asked to become Mrs. Rachel Michaelis so her son would have a father again. Out of almost surreal love and desperation, the holy mother happened to ask the devil in disguise of a saint for consolation. But really, who else than a madman would be able to make a decision that grave and radical after just a month of sharing a roof? What was the woman thinking?

The thought of this marriage alone filled me with the greatest joy since – well, at least since the previous Sunday's events.

The letter addressed a thought I had only ever dared thinking in its vaguest of forms. Even before Ciel, I had flirted with the prospect of wedding a lonely widow, ideally without any relatives left to look after her, just so I could take my joy in her child. With the vague idea suddenly taking on a radiant form, I suddenly understood the full extent of casual caresses that his mother's husband could easily give Ciel. And then, gradually, caress him not so casually anymore. And so on, and so forth.

Mark my word, I never intended to marry poor Rachel to rid myself of her. I cannot deny the idea wandering my mind once or twice – but imagine the consequences! Had the police not seen through my schemes, smart little Ciel would have. And what worth was lone legal guardianship if the guarded child all but trusted me? No, it was best to let the sorry woman be and approach the object of my yearning slowly, gradually, so maybe, eventually, he would give himself to me. If not, Plan B (the attentive reader might remember my plans of narcotising my darling) would suffice.

I set out to call Camp U in hopes of catching Rachel there. I would rather have her know my positive reply immediately, so she would not be too nervous, and I could reduce the likelihood of a fatal car accident caused by nervous inattention. I looked through the little telephone book that was carefully stored in a desk drawer below the telephone. I found that Rachel preferred to collect her telephone numbers in a chronological, rather than alphabetical order, and after the underlined NEW number of Mr. Derek Traun, I found the combination of numbers needed to contact Camp U. However, when I got connected, I heard she had left twenty minutes before.

 

The marriage happened suddenly, quickly and quietly. My widowed wife's remaining far-away relatives weren't notified about the marriage until after the ceremony. I, on the other hand, had no relatives or any other kind of valuable person on this side of the ocean, anyway. We agreed on a small and humble ceremony.

Had not Rachel insisted on integrating him into the ceremony, I would not even have taken Ciel away from his summer camp either, not daring to be too tender with the cornered boy yet. To his personal enjoyment, however, he was granted a full weekend away to attend the procedural, only two weeks after his admittance to Camp U.

On Friday, the day before the marriage, my soon-to-be stepson confronted me in my bedroom. “Still sleeping in your own room, huh,” he wondered. I looked up from my desk and turned to the door, at the approaching boy. “Yes, my old-world morality is taking the better of me, I suppose.” Ciel's expression shifted from skepticism to blunt disbelief.

“Is that so.” He crossed his arms. “Speaking of morality, I'm not sure whether you've noticed yet but I took the freedom to borrow a few books from your shelf. Very interesting ones, if I may say so.”

I turned around to closely examine my book shelf and as a matter of fact, books that I had never seen there before replaced the missing ones, as if not to let me notice until I were to look for a missing one.

“Rather interesting specimens among them. Far from this old-world morality you value so much. I can't look at Julie and Justin, the pair of twins at Camp U, anymore without having to either laugh or cringe. And only two days ago, when it rained cats and dogs in the afternoon and I had plenty of time and little to do, I had to wonder whether you haven't had your own fair share of encounters with handsome Hungarian pianists. I wonder how many other hidden gems there are waiting to be found among the titles I don't recognise on your shelf.”

Oh well. Hiding in plain sight had always been a popular strategy of mine. _Den Wald vor lauter Bäumen nicht sehen_ , as Germans would put it. A curious spy might attempt to search my drawers and cupboard for things I want to hide away. But who would hide the most interesting secrets in plain sight? I would, and I would do it successfully for most of my life. Though, that day I found out the strategy had its downsides when forces of fate and circumstance lead a small hand to the points of interest. I mirrored Ciel's crossed arms. “I should scold you for taking my things without my permission but I find this outcome to be too interesting to be angry.” That reaction noticeably startled the boy a bit. He had probably tried to embarrass me. “My dear Ciel, I am a connoisseur of arts. I can appreciate a brave and provoking opus for how it challenges boundaries of societies as well as minds.” This, the attentive reader will notice, is the full truth. My personal sexual preferences have little relevance to the literature that boy had discovered among my belongings. “Or do you think life necessarily imitates art?”

Ciel hesitated to give an answer. Obviously, the conversation had not taken the direction he had planned for it to go. I could watch him search for a sensible reply. Twitching his upper lip, fiddling with the thin air between his fingers, and then, finally, exhaling, “I find it hard to separate the two entirely... when it comes to this kind of _art_.”

“Is that because your own emotional response to the books overwhelmed you too much for you to separate fact from fiction?”

Cherries kissed my darling's cheeks. “Well, I, for one, couldn't have known what I would get myself into when I started reading these novels, could I.”

“And yet I assume you went out of your way to read both books to the end.” Checkmate. The most beautiful embarrassed silence on the faunlet's lips. “Ciel,” I carefully pronounced with my most sonorous voice, “from tomorrow, we will be family. And as family and friends, you can rest assured I will always have an open ear and mind for you. I was a boy of your age one day too and you would be surprised what experiences a young man makes in the secludedness of a British boarding school.” Yes, I was starting to become a little reckless, I admit.

Ciel tilted his head. “That leads me to the topic that I actually came to discuss here for. I have to wonder about this whole marriage-thing. I didn't really get the impression mother and you would go into that direction with each other.”

“Love comes in many forms, wouldn't you agree?”

“...no, that doesn't convince me at all.” He gulped. “I'll be keeping an eye on you, Michaelis. Don't you hurt my mother. I don't know what either of you are up to, my mother told me the whole thing was her idea, but the one I don't trust in this is you. I'm keeping an eye on you, you suspicious specimen.”

“I wouldn't want to hurt the woman that grants me the most wonderful thing in the world.”

He wasn't entirely convinced by that answer, nor did he understand. But who could blame him? In his shoes, there would have been no chance I believed this absurd thing either.

The mother protector took his leave and left me behind wondering whether our conversation just now had gone really well or really badly.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while! Thank you for being patient with me. I'm not happy with this chapter, I think it feels rushed but that's probably because it was, indeed, rushed. I generally struggle a little with the pacing of the story, I think. To be honest, I just wanted to get this one done so I can get to the next chapter.  
> Despite that, I hope you can enjoy this chapter a little at least. Please tell me what you think.

On our wedding day, the weather seemed like heaven was crying tears of laughter at our fraudulently holy matrimony. Better than the ceremony, I remember the dinner we had at a rather decent restaurant that Rachel had requested, it was delicious, this dress suit that Ciel was wearing, truly delicious, his slim form clad in, for his standard, unusually well-tailored garments. It was the suit that he would wear to church but because he always left home with the jacket dangling off his arm, I had not yet had the joy to see him fully dressed like this. The boy acted in his typical manner, maybe a bit better behaved than usual. No trace of our heated discussion from the previous night. He laughed with us, complained about his company at Camp U and about having to return yet again, until Rachel left us alone for a moment to “powder her nose”.

“You keep staring at me, more than you're looking at your brand new wife.” Dear god, he was right. Between marvelling his unfamiliar shape, observing his attitude and just woefully pining like the lovesick fool I was, there was hardly any time left to try to pretend I cared about the woman next to me. Not untruthfully, I spoke, “Your mother takes utmost care of her demeanour and appearance, all day, everyday. But you, look at you, suit and tie, back straight, I think I've never seen you like this before. I think I am in shock.” Ciel snorted and leaned forward, rested his chin on his palm and ever so gently kicked my shin, more of a tap than a thrust, and replied, “Shock, huh. I can't wrap my head around you. I'm starting to think I should be afraid of you.” I stepped on his foot and trapped it this way, smiling nonchalantly. “Are you?” The boy's expression hardened for a brief moment as he caught the foot I had pinned his down with by trapping it with the help of his other foot. At his success and dominance over me, he smirked at me, “Not at all. I'm far too curious about you.” I had another leg left and attacked his trap when Rachel returned to the table. “Stop or you'll get your shoes dirty, yes, I saw exactly what you two did, if I didn't know better, I'd say like father, like son.”

Ciel returned to Camp U with an assorted set of books from my collection: ones that I had given him and others whose absence I only noticed after a closer observation of my shelf. With just us two newlyweds left in the cold house, Rachel joyously introduced me to my husband role. This included a formal introduction to our neighbourhood by hosting a little dinner party (tedious), activities with other couples (even more tedious) and making me familiar with her past. There was her late first husband, Vincent, a man of confident posture but slim built from what I could tell from the few selected pictures she showed me. “Ciel takes after him, doesn't he?” Indeed, he did. “But he has my eyes.” And she was right again. It took me until that very moment to see it but when my wife showed me pictures of her child-self, I could not stop seeing my Ciel in them. Rachel noticed the excitement that struck me when I looked at the pictures. I marvelled at the beautiful little girl, a picture book nymphet. The pretty prototype of the beautiful faunlet I would meet someday, many years later. In some of these pictures she posed with a freckled girl with a striking resemblance to Anne of Green Gables. Her sister Angelina. Died in childbirth some five years ago. Death did have a cruel grip around this family's throat.

After giving me a glimpse of her own childhood, I had the pleasure to discover Ciel's transformation into the perfect boy he had become. At his birth, he was small and weak. The doctors doubted he would make it to his first birthday. But the little boy fought. And he won. He struggled with asthma for very long but even that he could eventually mostly overcome: I had never witnessed an attack since the first time I met him. Rachel and Vincent had sheltered the boy and kept him from playing outside with other children too much; the reason he now preferred to keep to himself, she supposed. Nobody expected his strong little brother to be the one to pass away from meningitis. Tragic.

In a certain picture, I discovered the reason for the Phantomhive family's wellbeing even after the husband's demise. A photograph of Vincent, symbolically shaking another man's hand. “That was when Mr. Traun promoted him to junior partner,” Rachel explained, “Vincent deserved this promotion, without a doubt, but I have to thank Mr. Traun for helping us through the financial difficulties that we faced after his death.” According to Rachel, her husband's senior partner granted her a fair widow's pension, out of kindness towards the family but, as she emphasised, rightfully so because the company would have never made it as far without her late husband's work. Personal contact to the man had mostly ceased, except for a friendly letter every Christmas.

As much as I enjoyed learning details about the boy I so missed, I suffered from the suburban society life that I had to partake in with my wife. The Midfords, especially, became my most exhausting domestic hurdle. The couple were the only people Rachel could earnestly call her friends, and Mrs. Francis Midford hated me like the pest; feelings that were based on reciprocity. Rachel hoped for us to grow together but let me anticipate the course of things by saying that it wouldn't come to that. I must thank that woman for saving me from myself, however. There is a certain kind of service that only an enemy can offer. They can put a mirror in front of you, for example; a reality check, if you will. A friend is either too oblivious or too considerate to provide this kind of service. In my case, I was provided with a second chance.

I had played the possibility over in my head time and time again. I would gain absolutely nothing. Ciel would see through me and it did not matter if I had gotten away with it or not, if Ciel, and only Ciel, had seen through it, what would be the point? I knew this perfectly well, and yet I needed the help of fate and Mrs. Midford to save me from myself.

Let me start from the beginning. At the wedding, I resolved to win over Rachel Michaelis's heart. I wedded the woman because she wished me to, and I was well aware that her exuberantly cold proposal letter tried to distract from the state of matter that she was, indeed, drawn to me. The similarities to her late husband (that I could not see) that she stated were what perhaps helped me handle Ciel, were, in fact, charming her. The logical conclusion was to mime mutual feelings of affection. It is an awfully mundane proverb but love does make blind, and I would take the profit. I would make her blind for my passion for her son.

Soon we would have regular sexual intercourse. I would look into her eyes, desperately looking for Ciel in them, and she would love for me to look at her so lovingly. The woman soon melted between my fingers but I felt increasingly sick. After every climax that I reached with the help of fantasy Ciel, I awoke with the cruel realisation that it was the mother that was lying in my arms, not him. She disgusted me. Even worse, I disgusted myself. And so, I began to consider it again.

One particularly sunny afternoon, Rachel suggested refreshing our sweating selves at nearby Hourglass Lake. A nice place, clear water, surrounded by tree crowns and, most importantly, rather secluded. On weekday mornings, one could be relatively sure to enjoy the beach privately. On any other day, I would have avoided accompanying her. I had grown tired of our “bonding activities” by then. There is only so much good company that I can tolerate, let alone company by a woman that I could only tolerate. However, it had been especially hot throughout this particular week and the prospect of cool water sounded too tempting not to say yes. The heat had started to numb every part of me, especially the brain. I had turned into a most stupid version of myself. The thought that crossed my mind occasionally but then hid itself deep in the darkest corners of my mind looked for the light of day in the early August heat. I wanted to rid myself from this woman. The setup was perfect. I didn't need to think of a plan; the plan offered itself to me. There were two calm human figures visible on the opposite shore; fishermen, I suppose. They were in the perfect distance: too far away to witness a murder but close enough to see the desperate attempts of a man to save his drowning wife, hear his screams for help. It would be easy. In a careless moment, I would dive down, drag one of Rachel's legs into the deep water and watch her drown from down below. I would be able to hold my breath, whereas Rachel, in her shock, would swallow heaps of cold water, breathe it in, feel it suffocate her, burn in her lungs. And by the time her body stopped struggling and I were sure of her end, only then I would desperately scream for help. And until the two fishermen were there, with their rowing boat across the lake, my poor old wife would have died because careless Mr. Michaelis did not notice her cramps, or stroke, or whatever tragic twist of fate it might have been, in time. And poor old me would get away with murder. The prospect looked wonderful in my overheated head. And let me remind you one more time, if nobody else had, Ciel would have looked through my schemes at once and all would be for naught, but senseless Sebastian simply could not fathom this outcome. All he could think of was having Ciel for himself, himself only. Hell, I would have intended to make him mine against his will, turning against everything I had worked towards so far.

As Rachel swum in front of me, serenely, facing away from me, the thought roared in my mind. I swam into her direction, trying not to catch her attention. It seemed to be the perfect plan. I had almost caught up, I was ready to dive down – at once, Rachel and I both turned around.

A familiar voice rung from the shore, it was Mrs. Midford's. Accompanied by her husband, she had had the same idea as my wife had that day, and by appearing in the best possible moment, her presence saved me from committing the greatest mistake of my life. And by the end of the day, Rachel Michaelis did not have to fear me anymore. Maybe it was the cool water, maybe it was Midford's ice cold presence, maybe it were both together, but in the afternoon, I had cooled down enough to imprint in my mind how utterly insane the whole attempt would have been.

And it was not long until it would not be just the two of us anymore. The intensive honeymoon period seemed to be defeated and I spent most of the remaining summer days working on my book, woefully writing in my journal and occasionally adding a sentence or two to the end of a letter that my wife sent to my camp kid, while Rachel would water the flowers, visit neighbours or read her magazines. And in the evening, I would fulfil my duties as her husband, thinking of him, only him, and she would fall in love with me. And all of a sudden, Labour Day came around and Ciel, my Ciel, my perfect Ciel, returned.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I could convey that Sebastian is a gross motherfucker (pun only half intended)! haha


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It hasn't been two months yet! I managed to update before my set goal.
> 
> I forgot to add this to the beginning of the last chapter but if you started reading this fanfiction before the last update, I suggest going over everything prior to chapter 6 again because I edited the whole fanfiction. If you don't feel like doing that (which I wouldn't if I were in your place, let's be honest haha), at least take a look at chapter 3. I rewrote it completely and it is now something completely different. I think it's worth taking a look.
> 
> [Art for chapter 7](http://nighttimeteaparty.tumblr.com/post/157865002629/new-chapter-of-the-lolita-au-is-online)

Ciel arrived late at night. Eyelids heavy, yawning heartily, pale, though sunburnt skin gleaming in the moonlight (he must have inherited the inability to tan from the red-haired family line of his mother), I exactly remember the first time I saw him again in so long. I wanted to throw my arms around him, cradle the exhausted boy to sleep, then kiss the sleeping beauty. I walked up to him, naively hoping for an embrace, one equally as sweet as the one I received at our goodbye. All I got was a pat against my upper arm and a mumbled “Hello, going to sleep, night.” But his return alone was enough to please me for the moment.

Magically, my mood lifted into new heights. I tried my best not to be obvious but waking up everyday, knowing that Ciel was home again, brightened my whole world. Even though we only had a handful of days left until his return to school and the boy needed them for personal recreation. Finally at home, finally at peace, I understood and yet it was difficult to let him be.

I gave my boy time. No bigger mistake than to rush things now, I thought. Ciel hid in his room for two days, only gracing us with his presence during meals and scarce chance encounters when he snuck to the kitchen in search of a glass of water or something sweet. Rachel voiced her disappointment in the results of her son's camp stay, had he not returned in the exact same way he had left – moody and solitary.

My wife's assumption was not exactly correct. The boy did change – though mainly in his behaviour around me. The change had started when he learned of his mother's and my engagement and it progressed throughout the wedding weekend. Ciel had become more attentive of me. I was well aware of his observation over me: The way I interacted with his mother and the way I reacted to him. The game seemed interesting, so I played along. I could be very loving towards my wife if I just put a little bit of effort into it. My smile had always been my best poker face.

On the third day, circumstances (if not to say fate!) ended the boy's seclusion. Rachel busied herself with preparing dinner. I had spent the afternoon in the piazza, eagerly searching the newspaper for something interesting, in an attempt to flee from my work. My efforts were to no avail and eventually, I returned to my office. Upon my return, however, I surprised another member of the household. Ciel was sitting at my desk, reading something – my initial fear was that he had found my journal but the fear proved itself wrong – it was an old magazine, a rare one that I was very proud to call my own, when he turned towards me in shock as he heard me enter the room. How strange, had we not already more or less established it a common thing for the boy to read my books without permission. He jumped up, magazine in his hands, then turned to the shelf where he had found it, but he did not move: had he, he would have come closer to me and he was evidently scared of that.

His distress fascinated me, lured me in and I could not help but approach him. The closer I came, the further he stepped away, pressing the magazine to his chest, as if to use it for protection, until he bumped against a wall. He fidgeted and searched for an escape route but I would not let him run so easily. Whatever might be wrong, I inquired. Nothing, according to him. His upset breathing pattern spoke against his words. Clearly he lied, I explained to him. I could see that he was nervous, like a cornered little rabbit in the fox's burrow, and that it was unusual for him to shy away like this _just because he had borrowed something_ , and, oh my, what have we here. I leaned against the wall, entrapping Ciel between my hands, slid a knee up between his slender legs and gently pushed against his bulging crotch. With a sigh, the boy dropped my treasured magazine to the floor.

He looked at me with an almost comical mixture of shock, fear, embarrassment and _desire_. Ladies and gentlemen, desire! An invitation I just could not turn down. My little faunlet, awfully aroused, in my territory! I think the reader can imagine the bare thoughts, dreams, plans that suddenly bloomed in my inspired mind. The boy froze beneath me like a fawn in danger, giving me time to overthink my plans. Without a doubt, I would take this opportunity but the question remained in what way I would proceed. While I considered my options, I proceeded to stroke Ciel with my knee and this, my valued readers, presented itself to me as the answer. Below me, Ciel whimpered and whined and half-heartedly asked me to stop. I pressed his torso to the wall, stepped a little closer, proceeded to rub his covered erection with my thigh. The sensation through both of our clothes and his sweet little moans were enough to drive me wild with lust and yet I held back. That day, it was Ciel's, and just Ciel's time to be pleasured. It seemed beneficial to bring to his attention that I was doing him a service. That I knew that at his confusing age, haunted by uncontrollable lust and curiosity, a helping hand (or knee, or thigh) was an invaluable thing. That there was nothing worse than to be left to oneself, left to finding ways to handle the problem alone. I told him that his moans sounded lovely, but that he had to take care not to moan too loudly; having his mother check on him surely was not something he wished to happen. Ciel held his hands against his mouth, looked down at the movement of my leg against his crotch and then up to me: Eyes slitted, eyebrows drawn together and his hands sliding down his chin, exposing a gaping mouth, wet tongue, an invitation for intrusion. Lecherous. Lust had overwhelmed him completely; had I not held him up against the wall, he would have dropped to the ground.

It did not take me much longer to stimulate Ciel until he came with a cry almost too loud for both of our good. He collapsed against me. I stroked his hair and told him how beautiful he was: He was beautiful when he let go of his shame at reaching his climax, he was beautiful because he reached it so quickly. He really was just an innocent little boy, previously untouched by anyone other than himself, losing his mind to the simplest of friction that I could offer. The little boy told me to shut up.

Ciel hid his face in the fabric of my shirt and I held him tight. He clearly needed the comfort to gather the pieces of his mind back together. To me, it had only been a brief (yet valuable) moment but to him, the world had changed. He leaned against my own bulging erection, his confirmation that he had not been the only one to take pleasure from what had just happened. It did not seem to bother him, however, seeing as my support helped him catch his breath again.

After resting against me for a little while longer, Ciel gathered himself together again. “I need to change,” he mumbled, avoiding eye contact with me. He was clearly embarrassed after the exaltation caused by his orgasm ebbed away. How sweet. I sent him off. He needed to ready himself for dinner and I needed a little time for myself as well. Now, let me take the the time until dinner to explain my deeds. I am convinced the readers must be surprised that I left it at just stimulating Ciel in this simple way, not helping myself to relief until he had left my office. The truth is, I did not want, by any chance, to overwhelm the boy. I had had my share of joy before and at that moment, I was content with just Ciel being back again. To him, however, this was new. And it had to be all about him. It all had to be about pleasuring him, making him feel what I had wanted him to feel for so long. Under no circumstances did I want to scare him away. Ciel had to have the feeling that I was allowing him his freedom, that I was not forcing myself onto him, that all of it happened because _he_ wanted it so.

Dinner presented itself as a little awkward. Ciel had evidently little idea how to behave in a situation like this, sitting opposite of the man that had just provided him his first orgasm caused by a foreign hand (well, leg). Even Rachel picked up on the strange silence between us, wondering whether we had had a fight. Ciel was quick to dismiss that assumption, assuring his mother with great enthusiasm that all had been well between us and that he was just a little tired and did not feel like talking. I could not help but chuckle.

That night, my wife enjoyed the pleasures of a very spirited Sebastian. My head was still filled to the brim with memories and fantasies of Ciel climaxing beneath me and they inspired me to reenact them on Rachel's body. One has to acknowledge that that day's developments resulted in benefits for everyone in the family.

The following day marked Labour Day: Ciel's last day of summer, his final day before school commenced again. Rachel had planned to take him to the Midfords but Ciel begged to be allowed to stay home, for he was still so tired and just wanted to rest before he had to go back to school. Rachel was soft that day and she allowed him to stay.

That day, I withdrew to my office and distracted myself with work to take on a passive role. It was Ciel's turn to take a step towards me, he had to approach me on his own will. And he did. Not long after I heard his mother's car leave, my faunlet appeared at my workplace. Without knocking, how rude, I scolded him. The boy ignored that and inched toward me, not without hesitation. When he had reached my desk, he opened his mouth to say something but the sound died off before he could form it. He opened it again, just to repeat the same failure. Before he could try again, I took the burden of opening the conversation from him: “You want to talk about yesterday.”

“Yes.” Ciel took a deep breath and resumed, “You know that... that I know that technically, what you did wasn't ok. I could tell my mother and she would call the police.”

The police, how funny. With no evidence, what business would the police have with me? Rachel, however, posed the greater threat. I countered, “I know that, of course. And yet I trust that you won't. And do you know why?”

Ciel just looked at me with a wary expression, waiting for an answer.

“It would mean that you'd have to describe to your mother in embarrassing detail what happened and you simply cannot do that.”

Ciel looked down at his feet, unable to deny my words.

“And be honest with me, didn't I just act according to your desires? You needed the relief and you were more than happy that I could offer it.”

Ciel was taken aback by that proclamation, even though he must have assumed all along that he would be faced with it. He went back into combat mode. “You're gross. To say something like this... and don't you think I didn't realise that you took your fair share of fun out of this.”

I pulled the boy nearer and he was leaning over me now, supporting himself on my shoulder with one hand. He would have collapsed onto me otherwise, for I dragged him toward me so firmly. I breathed, “Of course I did. You have no idea how enchanting you are when you are as wanton as yesterday. I will gladly service you again if you want me to.”

I could tell Ciel's racing heartbeat from the subtle up and down of the skin covering his carotid. He gazed over me and pondered his options. I let him ponder. Then he murmured, a bright blush lighting up his face, “In that case, let me set the conditions. You will serve me... like... like you did yesterday.. whenever I want you to. And I won't spill a single word in return.”

I laid my hands on my young debaucher's hips and pulled him toward my lap, a command that he obeyed to by placing himself on top of it. “I will do whatever you wish me to do, Ciel.”

That was clearly the answer he had wanted because upon hearing it, he pushed his crotch against me. Unintentionally so, judging from his embarrassed withdrawal that followed the gesture. I hindered him from leaving my lap, pulled his hips closer to mine again and slid my hands beneath the trouser legs of his way too childish shorts. I could hardly hide the excitement that came over me when I could finally knead the boy's thighs, after longing to touch them for so long. Ciel threw his arms around my neck to support himself. His face merely a hand's width away from mine, I could feel his breath on my lips and see where his lashes were rooted. He held his eyes tightly shut; visual sensation would only have impaired his haptic experience. I laid my upper lip on his but dared not proceed without asking for permission, “May I kiss you?”  
And permission was granted with an aspirated, “'es”

I closed the distance between our lower lips and merely breathed the air he breathed for a little longer. I withdrew one hand from his trousers and used it to stroke Ciel's soft cheek. Then, carefully, slowly, but with determination, I slid my tongue into his hot little mouth, in search of his. When I found it, it tensed for a split second. The muscle relaxed again but Ciel did not really know what to do. Hence, he did the only sensible thing, which was to do nothing and let me play. The touch was so unfamiliar to my little lover, the foreign body in his mouth was answered with a bit too much saliva and it oozed from the corner of his mouth. The kiss was clumsy, unbalanced and wet and it was the best kiss I had ever had.

Ciel opened his eyes again when I broke the kiss. His gaze wandered across my face in a disordered manner, as if he was searching for something, his own expression shifting from dazed to serious to amused. Finally he chuckled, “I can't believe you really are this perverse. I seriously considered the possibility that you jerked me off yesterday just to embarrass me. But we're way past the point where that is arguable.”

“But is it really perverse if I can't help whom I fall in love with?” I did not like the notion.

“Pah, love?! Are you kidding me?”

“Do you think I would risk my honour, my freedom, my _life_ , just to get close to you, if it weren't for love?”

“Did you really marry her to get closer to me?”

I brushed his neck with my lips and whispered, “Indeed.”

Ciel gasped at the sensation. “That's not love, that's obsession. And if you can't tell that much, you're a sicker man than I thought. You-” I attempted to shut his mouth with another kiss but he avoided me and proceeded, “Don't cut me off like that. Listen, the truth is, I'd been hoping for a while for something like that to happen someday.”

I singlehandedly unbuttoned the boy's shorts. “Yesterday's encounter, you mean?”

Ciel watched my hand move underneath the waistband. Another gasp. “Yes...”

“But you seemed severely distressed. Did you get cold feet?”

The boy hid his face in his hands. “My god, why am I even telling you this.”

“My best guess would be that you wanted me to know all along and the state of arousal frees you from the mental restraints to tell me.” I dug deeper into his trousers, below his briefs. And there it was, the very first time I was allowed to touch the boy's most intimate parts. Ciel let out an embarrassed whine. I pulled the clothes a little further down his legs to expose his erection. It was small and pink and juvenile and it wanted to be caressed by me so badly. I carefully inspected its form with my fingertips. My step son proved himself the perfect little faunlet, in every detail of his body, of his being.

“Sebastian... You're so sick... So sick...” I grabbed it firmly. Ciel cursed. Then he started to rock his hips. “But I guess I'm just as sick.” I lightened my grip a little and let him move in my hand. “Sebastian... I... I was waiting for you to do this to me... the things your sick books described...” Of course you were. How could you resist the thought of having strong and handsome Sebastian send you to other spheres.

The boy clawed his fingers into my shoulders. The movement of his hips on my lap teased me more than it pleased me and eventually, I could not help but use my other hand to tend to my own carnal needs. With closed eyes and forehead leaning on mine, Ciel continued to insult me under his breath. And then he came, way too early. I was nowhere near being done and this time, I did not want to, could not leave it at that. I let Ciel lean on me while I continued to treat myself: roughly, almost violently, in contrast to how carefully I touched the boy on my lap. Behind his back, I inspected the boy's ejaculate in my hand. It was rather little and clear. I estimated he must have had his first ejaculation about a year ago. The thought of innocent eleven-year-old Ciel exploring his body finally drove me to my climax and I came with a small moan, my face buried in the curve of his neck.

Ciel fell asleep on top of me. I did not dare move and wake him up, so I just stroked his hair, enjoyed his smell and reflected on my luck. This boy, my boy, had given himself to me on his own. Neither was there need for force, nor for sleeping pills.

We remained on that chair for minutes, hours, days, maybe weeks, I could not tell. I lost my sense of time and only found it again when Ciel woke up.

 

At night, I shared the bed with my pubescent lover's mother as if nothing had happened, and held her too. And so I found myself bedding a mother and her son.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mhm I hope this chapter turned out well. I was a little nervous to post it, afraid that I ruined the first real sexual encounters. But then I thought screw it, this is just a fanfiction, what am I even working myself up with haha.
> 
> There's no real hint to that but I like to think that the magazine mentioned is Chameleon: a Bazaar of Dangerous and Smiling Chances, a sole 19th century issue that featured homoerotic poems and short stories, among which pederastic motives were featured too.
> 
> In the second sex scene, I tried to convey the absurdity of Sebastian's supposed role as Ciel's obedient “servant”. He says he waits for Ciel's next step but as soon as Ciel enters the scene, Sebastian practically bullies Ciel into admitting that he liked what happened the former day. Ciel did enjoy it but he is completely inexperienced, has no idea how to handle the situation. He wants to step out of the game victoriously but he has little concept of what this victory was supposed to look like. Sebastian agrees to “serve” Ciel whenever he wants him to but the truth is, he just proceeds to do it again out of his own will, not because Ciel asks him to do it. However, he asks for Ciel's permission before kissing him: something that is hardly as risqué as fumbling his thighs (though one could argue that the kiss weighs more because it hadn't happened yet)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally intended this chapter to have double the content but I was neither satisfied with the pace, nor its tone. For a week I'd been struggling to put it together and today I rewrote some of it, copied together stuff that I'd already written, left other parts for the next chapter and here we are.  
> I admit I didn't read through the whole thing again as I'm writing this. I will probably go over it tomorrow again and edit a few horrible mistakes and inconsistencies out but right now, I just really want to post this update. EDIT: I have edited it by now and it wasn't nearly as terrible as I feared it to be haha
> 
> Sorry for updating so irregularly. I originally wanted to write this chapter and wait until April to post it but I just can't wait. But I'm afraid to say that there will be a gap after either this or the next chapter. I apologise. I hope it's the next one.
> 
> I hope you will enjoy this chapter!
> 
> [Art for chapter 8](http://nighttimeteaparty.tumblr.com/post/158446959104/there-we-go-this-was-fun-to-paint-as-it-was-the)

Thus began a period of bliss.

Ciel went back to school. To my luck and to his; had I not otherwise faced great struggles to hold myself back. My mind – my heart, too, was set ablaze by Ciel's formal acceptance of my affections. I hid in my office, pretending to busy myself with work, when actually, all I did was think of him, Ciel, Ciel, Ciel, Ciel, Ciel, Ciel, Ciel. Hazy consciousness, vague and yet intense visions of Ciel in my arms, a choking feeling I could not place. I consulted my dear journal to help me put my thoughts into words but all that I could produce from my pen were scribbles: Little spirals and strokes, Ciel's name in every line that I tried to start to write a sentence in. The page looked like an aphasic madman's attempt to regain his ability to express himself while desperately clinging to the only word he could phrase:  _Ciel_.

I had found a way to fake composure when we had dinner. I sported a perfect persona of calmness and normalcy and so did Ciel. After dinner, Ciel did not immediately disappear in his room anymore either, unlike the days before. I was surprised to find him appear extraordinarily relaxed between his mother and me. All day I had thought about how I wanted to have him to myself again but in the evening, the odd little Michaelis-Phantomhive-family spent the remainder of the evening listening to trivial comedy programmes on the radio and I was once again happy with just occasional little knowing glances and the casual touches that I was gifted with by my step son sitting between his mother and me.

A strange domestic routine developed between us. Sometimes, things were just like they used to be: Ciel came to me to vent about his classmates, never to his mother. He still borrowed books from me, sought for my support when he did not want to be taken to church on Sundays and stole my desserts. Things that Rachel did not approve of but accepted as given. Other times, however, he approached me with intent on matters his mother would certainly never have forgiven. Our sexual relationship became part of our routine and Rachel did not suspect a little thing.

We knew how to take advantage of the woman's daily routines. She spent her days mostly downstairs, whereas my office and Ciel's bedroom, our own personal territories, were conveniently located upstairs. When I worked, she dared not ever interrupt my diligent academic efforts. Moreover, starting with the new school year, Sebastian Michaelis the Frenchman was more than happy to give Ciel private lessons in the language that was to thank for providing his name; not that he had had any dire need for those lessons in the first place, as French was one of the boy's strongest subjects, but Rachel agreed that practice with a native speaker was a wonderful opportunity to perfect his skills in a way that school could not offer. Indeed, there was plenty that this tall, dark and handsome French gentleman could teach the good American boy. Most diligently, we cultivated his tongue work, in order to get rid of that terrible accent, as well as use it as a stimulant during our study breaks. 

Speaking of tongues, I want to take the opportunity to tell my readers, valued ladies and gentlemen of the jury, an anecdote to capture the essence of our blooming romance. I vividly remember that particular rainy Friday afternoon in late September. Ciel's mother did not like the rain as it got in the way of her beloved gardening hobby. Out of boredom, she drove downtown to do the following day's grocery shopping, a measure that presented itself as a wonderful occasion to us.

I found Ciel lounging on the sofa in the living room, lying on his stomach with a comic book and a bag of candy neatly placed before him. The boy did not notice me creeping up on him; my accomplice, the pouring rain, covered any noise I made.

“So much candy and look at what you're reading!” I tackled the boy from behind, pressed his stomach harder into the cushioned seat and came to sit on the narrow edge next to his hips. He flinched and punched my nose. A second or two to realise what he had just done. Then no 'Sorry'. But a 'Serves you right'. Ciel took another piece of caramel out of his bag, rolled over onto his back, fixated me and slowly slid the candy between his pouty doll-lips. The boy chewed on it with great enjoyment and let me watch him.

“Did you come downstairs to play father figure and scold me?” He was still chewing. “No, you're just a loyal dog looking to rub himself against his owner whenever he allows it, aren't you.”

I replied with just a “Brat.”.

We both smirked at the opposite until the other's view let us forget how to hold our facial muscles in place. For a while, we merely watched each other like this, no word daring to break the roaring silence that came with the heavy rainfall. Ever so slightly, Ciel's lips parted and I, ever so slightly, lowered myself to him. He lifted his chin towards me in anticipation, yet I could not help but let him wait for just a little longer. Let my watch linger over my beautiful porcelain boy-doll. Then, carefully, I bowed down and brushed my lips over his. He replied with a barely audible sigh. I cupped his head in my hands and lost myself in his image for another while. Ciel was even more charming when he was waiting for my touch. The hardly noticeable but all the more enticing movement of his lips along to his adapted breathing pattern, lips that looked plumper than usual when he was waiting for mine. His lashes, shifting the shadows and reflections in his eyes when his eyelids became heavier. Every little imperfection on his skin, every faint discolouration or a bursted capillary, they reminded me that he was real, and I was with him, and he was mine. And my Ciel reached for my face and made me kiss him.

The boy was still no perfect kisser but he had learned since the first time our lips locked. He let himself be led but knew how to let me have my joy in leading him. When our tongues met, I could tell the faint taste of caramel that had danced around his tongue before it was my turn to do so. His saccharine little mouth made me hungry for more. The boy moaned into me as my tongue searched for more of him. He always moaned quite self-indulgently, yet (to the benefit of our discretion) never too loudly. How much of it was coming from his own impulse and how often he just played me, knowing perfectly well that he could enslave me with his sweet voice, I never learned.

I backed away from him only long enough to be awarded with the view of his desperate need for more of me written across his face. I then granted him the relief of my lips playing with his again. A soft nibble on his lower lip, an accidental collision of our teeth when Ciel tilted his head. I took the tilted head as an invitation and moved my tongue to his earlobe. The needy faunlet firmly wrapped his arms around my torso. Only briefly did I touch this area, however, before I remembered to take utmost care not to give in to visibly marking my lover so obscenely high. I receded from him and just looked at the panting young boy beneath me. He was waiting for more but I only brushed a lock of hair out of his face and whispered, “Not today.” Yes, I had come downstairs that afternoon in search of the touch of Ciel's skin. But my desires changed into musings of a more sensitive nature. Marvelling the beauty of the moment, pure and innocent, felt suddenly much more riveting. Ciel below me was a piece of art. A sensual, rosy-cheeked Caravaggio youth, lit in Caspar David Friedrich's most melancholically damp eventide. Had I been a painter, there would be a portrait of him on that day in my legacy. Alas, I have but words and memory to keep the image alive.

Yet I could not help but sympathise with the boy's need for more touch. I picked the lightweight up, leaned back into the opposite corner of the sofa and placed his head on my chest. He pressed himself away from me to look at me directly, big question marks written on his face. I told him to settle down on my chest, close his eyes and listen.

“Pay attention to your own perception.” I ran my fingertips down his spine. “It's easy to lose yourself in lust. But there can be more to lust than frenzy. Feel how the condition of your body heightens your senses. Doesn't everything sound realer now than it usually does?”

And my obedient little boy listened. To the rain, my heartbeat, my breath too. Just as I listened to his. Our bodies ached for one another but the aesthetic of the moment knew how to enrapture us both enough to just wish to take delight in the poetic beauty of two lovers' bodies embracing in the numbing white noise of rain. Ciel became very calm. I took his hand and toyed with it. I entangled his fingers between mine, kissed its knuckles, brought it back to its original place and stroked its soft skin with my thumb. For all the things an honourable man could condemn me for, that scene was so serene, not even my wife's valued vicar would have seen anything but beauty.

When Rachel returned, she found us both asleep, bag of candy and comic book tangled between our legs. Ciel was nervous and embarrassed to be caught like this but Rachel just smiled and complimented us on how close we had become. She later told me in a bittersweet voice that the scene reminded her of the happy lazy afternoons when Ciel was much younger and her first husband still around.

Ciel started to find it thrilling to explore how far he could go with me in front of his mother. Initially, it used to be me who liked to play with the boy. Casual touches: A pat on his lower back before he left for school in the morning or a thumb on his lips to wipe a rice grain away. But the boy liked the game. And he played it well.

He had always been a tease, from the very second I stepped foot in the piazza and saw him for the first time, but nowhere near comparable to the adventurous measures he took after he became used to his role as my lover. He tangled his slim arms around my shoulders from behind me when he approached leisurely reading Sebastian in the living room, pretending naivety when he asked what I was studying so attentively. During our belated back-to-school family shopping trip, he wiggled his bottom at me while he presented his potential new pair of trousers and asked for my opinion on how they fit around his thighs, if they weren't too tight. When the whole little family spent the evening listening to the radio together in the living room, he spread himself across the sofa and laid his head (or his feet, whichever option he currently preferred) onto my lap. Rachel would scold him for his bad manners but he just replied that _Sebastian surely wouldn't mind_. I told Rachel not to worry. On his most adventurous days, during dinner, Ciel searched for my legs below the table, out of Rachel's sight, and stroked them up to the thighs with his sock-clad little boy feet. Oh, he played me well. It took me a good load of composure not to throw him onto the table and have my way with him when he was teasing me like this.

Ciel indulged in his new position. The boy had seduced an adult and he took pride in doing so. The revelation that I desired him and not his mother, that I preferred him over her. Ciel felt powerful over me, and he _was_ powerful. Our mutual desire really gave us power over each other, a kind of control and dependency unique to forbidden lovers like us. We shared a secret whose revelation had the potential to destroy both of us and we bathed in the thrill.

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! With a rather short update, I'm afraid. But better short than nothing, I suppose! Now that it's summer, I will hopefully be able to produce more in shorter time.

Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury, I am writing this confession because I do not deny any of my deeds. You are aware that I do not need to elaborate on my love affair with Ciel as it is not the crime I am charged with, yet I freely choose to explain myself because I value this chance to elaborate on the reasons why it is rightfully not our affair that has me face Iustitia's hard judgement.

Ciel was a selfish little lover. He made use of my service without bothering to give a thought to my wishes. He made me kiss and caress his body and I did so with great passion. Sometimes he would sit on my desk; other times, we made ourselves comfortable on the boy's bed. I would lick and suck and nibble on him until he poured his love onto my tongue or I would stroke him manually and let him spend all over his darling little tummy. He would insult me for that sort of _nasty behaviour_ of making such a mess but truthfully, he never really minded. However, he strictly would not let me penetrate him. At first, I dared not go so far on my own account, I had rather let him have time to get accustomed to the feeling of my aching body against his, outside of him, while my uppermost priority was to please the boy in my care. But even after weeks, not a single curious finger was allowed to sneak inside of him. And it goes without saying that there was no attempt on his side to give anything back. He just used me to be stimulated, but for my own relief, I had to trust entirely in my own hands.

Come to think of it, there was, indeed, something I received in return. Ciel loved to listen to my elaborations on what drew me to him. In return, he explained to me how he had developed his want for me. My nonchalant handling of Ciel indulging in the risqué parts of my private library set a train of thoughts in motion, which ultimately ended at wondering whether I would want to do the things described in the books to _him_. At first, the thought unsettled him but after a hot and humid summer of thinking and fantasising, he found that the thought had turned into desire and he decided to try to act upon it. Despite, or maybe even because it was wrong and scandalous. Ah, rebellious youth!

To Ciel, everything that mattered was maturity. He could not wait to grow up. I, on the other hand, cherished him the way he was: Fresh, soft, weak in my hands. Interestingly enough, my hands turned out to be the one place where he allowed himself to be weak. When I cherished his body, I made him feel adult in his weakest states. He searched for my stimulation most desperately whenever his mood was worst. When he was angry, annoyed, or maybe even scared, he allowed himself to collapse in my arms. From what I observed, I was fairly convinced he had tried to hide his weaknesses ever since he had lost his father, especially from his mother, and letting go and giving himself to me offered him solace.

One afternoon, I found him standing in front of the mirror in his bedroom, nude, marvelling at the colourful little bruises that he had received from me as a souvenir of the previous afternoon. He did not notice me opening the door, so I took the chance to watch him behave in his natural, unaffected surroundings. Ciel brushed over the love bites carefully, pressed a little against the most prominent one, dangerously far up on the inside of his right thigh. The beautiful young boy looked calm and content.

Just a short while later, I added to the marks on his body. He was exceptionally sweet and peaceful that afternoon.

Over time, I learned to know Ciel in his everyday life. He liked to proclaim at home that he could not care less about his classmates and how much of an inconvenience it was having to be among middle schoolers everyday (because he clearly saw himself above that) but the occasional phone call to ask him whether he would like to accompany some other children to play a game or go to the movies spoke of how his demeanour at school could not possibly be as fiendish as he liked to present himself at home. Very rarely, he would even agree on joining them, although it had to be a movie he wanted to see anyway, and it hat to be Elizabeth Midford from down the road asking because she, and only she, could beg him long enough to convince him to give in. It was also Elizabeth, and only Elizabeth, whom he never spoke an ill word of, save for a few little complaints about how she liked to nag him so much. It would stand to reason that a healthy young boy would take interest in a sweet girl of his age, and that the possibility offered itself as a threat to my relationship with him. I can, however, tell the difference between a blooming young romance and the familiar, sibling-like ties these children shared. If anything, I feared that Ciel might accidentally spill our secret to her, though the fear was unjustified as I overestimated their honesty with each other in great measures.

Other observations about daily Ciel only emphasised what I had already taken as evident. The boy's appetite was poor and had it not been for his candy consumption to compensate, he had certainly died from malnutrition long ago. Without a doubt, this questionable diet was to blame for his small frame, how he evidently fell back behind his peers in his growth. It seemed that Rachel had long given up on trying to make him eat his whole meals, even though the portions she served him were always the same size as ours. Better to leave the possibility open, however slim, for him to eat a little more, than to take the option from him entirely, I suppose.

A matter Ciel showed no such reluctance for was his attire under the public eye. Whereas in the summer heat and privacy of home, the faunlet never cared about any stares he might attract (mostly from me) with his lazy and inappropriate outfits, he valued a well-groomed appearance in the world outside. For how could he expect to be taken seriously if he could not even take care of his own appearance, he explained.

Time passed and Ciel turned thirteen years old in December. Rachel's gardening hobby had little to offer in the cold season, with the result that her attention completely shifted to her family. That made sexual advances significantly more difficult to carry out. The force of circumstance to keep my hands off my step son in his mother's presence bothered me not as much as I expected it to, however. Ciel and I went back to our origins. One must not forget that all there was between us could only bloom because the little imp and I had liked to spend our time together from the very start. Good conversation to please the mind remained just as valuable as body contact to please the flesh. Sometimes we played chess; the boy was skilled at the game and happy to finally have a partner to truly oppose him. Other times, we talked about topics that were beyond Rachel's field of knowledge and shared a little intellectual intimacy. For his birthday, his mother and I had presented him with a set of Sebastian-assorted (and Rachel-approved) literature and it provided conversation topics a-plenty.

Rachel loved to see her husband and son in such talkative one-on-ones. She loved it even more when I laid a fatherly hand on Ciel's hot forehead when he had a fever (a fever that soon struck me too because I could not help but kiss the glowing red little darling tenderly when the opportunity presented itself) and when I massaged his tense back muscles in the same skilled way that I also massaged hers when she had hunkered over the hearth for too long. She deemed me a wonderful stepfather.

In January, I voiced my acute need of certain specialist literature that would have facilitated my efforts to bring my own book to a close. My wife sent my son and me to the local public library to have him show me around there. Provincial and small, the library had little to offer on that behalf but I could not deny its charm. Most of the books that lined the rows of its rust-coloured shelves had surely seen better times but beneath thick layers of dust telling that no hand was lain on some of these books for a long time, there were little treasures to be found. On the occasion, Ciel and I had lunch downtown and outings to the library became a preferred weekend activity, with and without Rachel.

Sometimes, of course, I had to tend to my wife's demands as well. I compromised to occasional church visits. I would never form any ties in the community if I did not go, she liked to scold me. I preferred to attend the dance gatherings and similar get-togethers that Rachel loved. Sebastian Michaelis is a vain man and vanity shines brightest under the eyes of an awed audience. At parties that imitated European tradition and culture, real and life-sized European Monsieur Michaelis impressed with gracious stature, sense of tact in song and word and stories to tell. My wife proved herself a fairly skilled dancer and Mr. and Mrs. Michaelis soon danced themselves into the local hearts and gossip. Little fairytales and large fantasies about the way we met bloomed among the good citizens of Ramsdale and one curious madam or another did we leave in the belief that we had, in fact, known each other for a long time, but fate was not kind enough to cross and realign our ways until last summer. Upon our return home late at night, each of us tipsy, we would laugh about the untruths that we did not attempt to put an end to and the feeling of fame and glory these untruths bestowed upon us. I recognised Ciel in her impish joy in fooling her friends and acquaintances with me.

I do have to admit that I grew to value her as a person. I find it fitting at this point to formally apologise to Rachel for not doing her justice in my prior descriptions. I treat her as an obstacle in my tale but I do realise that if it had not been for this woman, Ciel would never have been mine. She was a respectable, principled person, more so than any other individual I would ever encounter after her.

At the end of one of these nights out, when we had found the way to our bedroom, Rachel finally managed to phrase an issue that she had struggled to express to me as it possibly posed a threat to our serene, financially carefree situation. On the occasion of her obligatory Christmas letters, she had spread the message of her marriage among her acquaintances. This meant, however, that her benefactor, Mr. Derek Traun, too, learned of me. Rachel feared that these news would cause Traun to cease financial support for the family and put us, a starving poet and his wife (as she did not put but obviously meant it) into monetary troubles. The assumption hurt my pride but I tried to swallow it down and explained to her that she underestimated my financial stability as a well-published author with his new project on the finish line. Rachel apologised to me and explained that she trusted my capability to feed the family but needed to settle the matter with Derek, as she called him familiarly, as he had always been kind to her family and she felt obliged to be honest with him. The man had since replied to her letter, in which he apparently asked to meet this fellow that had caught her fancy in person and that she told him that she was sure that I would also strike a chord with him, for she liked to explain that I shared some good qualities with her Vincent.

It would not come to this meeting.

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did my very best to finish this chapter before I go on vacation! Which is tomorrow, so wow, it was close.  
> I hope you'll enjoy it!
> 
> [Art for chapter 10](http://nighttimeteaparty.tumblr.com/post/162914706229/ciel-a-reimagination-of-vladimir-nabokovs)

 

Spring arrived before I knew it. The months flew by and I was beyond pleased with the path my life had taken. The role of the picture book family father had been written for me. Even wary Mrs. Midford grew to accept me, or at least refrained from showing her dislike of me as openly. Everything went perfectly well. So well that it surprised me.

One sunny Sunday morning in May, Ciel sneaked to my bedside to wake me up. When I showcased confusion about what he might need this early on a Sunday, the boy only snorted at me and ordered me to get up.

As he had successfully dragged me out of the bedroom, eyelids still heavy, he finally explained, “You're a sub-par exemplar of a father but you could at least help your... 'step-son'...”, a term at which he shuddered, “...help with his duties on Mother's Day. It's your duty too, you know? Or do you not care about your mothers over there in Europe?”

“I apologise but it is, in fact, a holiday I have little ties to, not only because it isn't celebrated the American way in France, but also because my mother died in childbirth.”

“...Oh. Yeah.” Ciel felt a little sorry about his unthoughtful accusation. “Well, but you're living in the United States now, you're married to my mother and now you're in it with me. I'll use you without hesitation.” Oh, how I loved it when he talked like this.

Ciel told me that he had made Mother's Day breakfasts all by himself in previous years – a sweet gesture of him, yet not without a tragic aftertaste. I imagined he must have practiced this tradition with his late father and kept it up even after his demise. Now he had somebody to lend him a hand again.

We went to the kitchen. After standing there for a few seconds, both of us very unpresentable in our pyjamas, he asked me whether I could make pancakes. Not in the American sense, I explained, but I could serve his mother crêpes, if that was acceptable. Fair enough, he told me, as that was more than he could ever have produced by himself, had his previous Mother's Day breakfasts consisted merely of cereals and orange juice.

I sensed that he had planned to make me his footman while doing nothing at all and just watch me work, so to prevent this course of events, I told him that I would teach him how to make my crêpes and thereby involve him in the process. Flour, eggs, milk, a little butter and a pinch of salt were all I needed and what I ordered Ciel to provide me with. He was quick to place the ingredients on the kitchen counter and waited for me to take further action, but instead I just instructed him on how to prepare the batter.

Even though the boy gave his best, it was apparent that he had never touched any cooking supplies before beyond washing them when his mother asked him to. Filling the bowl with flour, milk and salt went fairly well, although he could have been less reluctant with the salt. The eggs, however, were a mess. Luckily, I had my little apprentice open the eggs into a separate bowl, as if I had seen the disaster coming already. Ciel took his first egg and tapped it, very hesitantly, against the edge of the bowl. As it had hardly even cracked open, he gave me a puzzled look. I told him to smash the egg harder. He did. He overdid. He smashed the egg in two and it fell apart in his hand. Half of it landed next to the bowl, while the other half mixed with the fractured pieces of eggshell within the piece of tableware. For a moment, the both of us just stood there in disbelief and stared at the mess. I told Ciel to clean himself up while I cleaned up the mess he left behind. Before I let him try another time, I made him watch the way _I_ opened an egg. And on his second try, the mess he made was hardly even worth mentioning anymore.

When all the ingredients had made it into the bowl successfully, I let Ciel mix the batter. He did it with so much dedication that I found it to be perfectly smooth under my final inspection. He certainly did not want to show any further failure in front of me after the egg incident anymore. The boy deserved acknowledgement and so I told him that he did well, and although his exact words were, “Tch, that's the least I can do!”, his posture and expression spoke of the pride he really felt.

“And now we need to let the batter rest for thirty minutes.”

Ciel frowned. “Ugh. I'm gonna fall asleep again in the meantime.”

I picked the thin boy up and sat him onto the kitchen counter. “Not if I keep you busy.”

Ciel gave me an accusing look. “There's really only one thing you can think of, isn't there?”

I faked offence. “Now, I don't know why you would interpret my innocent statement this way, but on the other hand, I think I do deserve a kiss for my efforts, don't you agree?”

Ciel let out a little growl, then pulled me toward himself to give me my well-deserved payment. I took it with great joy and embraced him tightly. When our lips parted, we rested our foreheads against each other.

My thoughts drifted off and I could not help but inquire about something I had been thinking about for a while. “Don't you find it odd to live a life like this? The happy, All-American family on the outside: Proud mommy and daddy Michaelis, who love each other _so_ dearly, and you, their bright middle schooler son; while truthfully, I'm really here for the boy and not her, and not exactly in order to live the joy that is fatherhood either, and mommy's love being one-sided... if you can even call the projection of her crippled feelings onto me 'love'–”

Ciel slapped me. “Don't you talk about my mother like this. Look, I'm in this as long as you don't mistreat her. But I dare you spill another rude word about her and we'll see where that takes you.”

I drew back. Swallowed. “I am truly sorry. I wasn't in my right mind.” I really was not. Did I forget whom I was talking to?

Ciel snorted.

“However,” I continued, “Aren't _you_ feeling any sort of guilt for betraying your mother in this way?”

Ciel laughed. “You're asking _me_ if I feel guilty? _You_? You know, I'm just a poor child that was seduced into doing unspeakable things by his monstrous stepfather. Where do you see my guilt in this story?”

I closed the gap between us a little and cupped his thighs with my hands. “You sure love to play the child-card whenever it's convenient, don't you?”

He smirked. “I know my strong points and I'm not afraid to play on them. I can't say I don't need them in this game against you, if I'm being honest here.” Then he reached for a stray hair strand to wipe it out of my face.

“A game against each other, this is what you think of us?”

“You're a powerful player and I need to stay careful around you. Can't drop my guard.” He took my hands and placed them on his waist.

“You are cruel to say something like this...”

I started to make little circular movements with my thumbs. We looked at each other and did not say a single word. As if by telepathy, with mere glances, we told each other stories about what we would have liked to do with each other at a better time and suddenly, it was time to pour the rested batter into the frying pan.

We had nothing but maple syrup to serve our crêpes with, so we were left no choice but to compromise to this rather unorthodox blend of France and America. Rachel, however, could not have been happier with her breakfast when Ciel woke her up with the first treat in his hands.

At noon, our family of three went on a spontaneous picnic trip to Hourglass Lake. Unfortunately, we were not the only ones with that particular idea and so we ended up in what you could call a town party. Rachel enjoyed the day none the less and the bless that she felt was still written on her face in the evening. At the sight of his happy mother, Ciel was happy too. Mother's day 1948 stays in our memories as the sunny, laid-back and serene prelude to the Monday that followed.

 

I can still see her appalled face before my eyes as if it had been yesterday. I had returned from a quick outing whose purpose I do not remember anymore, when I found Rachel standing in the kitchen, eyes focussed on the object of her interest in her hands. I had never seen anybody as pale of shock as that woman right in that moment. When she heard me approach, she looked up at me. Not capable of speaking a single word, all she could do was wave my journal at me to signalise that she _knew_. Half of its content was written in French and it had run out of pages to write on by late December but that did not matter. She knew.

I raised my hand to my forehead and massaged my temple with the thumb. I had to come up with something. Anything. Why would I write this dangerous book but not think of an escape plan in case push came to shove. What a fool I was. “Rachel,” I began, “Let's not jump to conclusions now, will we?” I made one step closer to her, she stepped back. “As you know, I will finish my current book in a matter of weeks now and over the past few months, I have started to collect my thoughts about a new novel. I know what it looks like. It looks horrible. And I used your and Ciel's names as placeholders because I am terrible at coming up with names. I knew you would be shocked if you read it and that's why I have told you nothing about it yet but it's fiction and I've always wanted to produce a most shocking story–“

“Fiction!” Rachel burst out, “Fiction, you say!” She opened the journal to frantically look for something to recite, “ _My thoughts circulate around nothing but Ciel's thighs. I want to stain their whiteness with my lips, I want to...”_ her voice broke, she shook her head and closed the journal again. “Even if this _were_ fiction, it would still remain the sickest, most disgusting thing I have ever laid eyes on!”

I was helpless. There was no chance I could redeem myself now. Yet, I did not want to just give in. “Rachel, dear, please try to understand–“

“Shut your mouth! You're the Devil himself! I can't believe I welcomed a monster into my house with open arms, gave myself to him, but worst of all, gave him my son! My beloved child... Ciel...” My wife fought against the tears that welled up in the corners of her eyes.

While I made futile attempts at soothing her, Rachel stepped backwards to the kitchen counter, holding onto the journal tightly, never losing eye contact with me, and searched the counter for a knife. Not to attack me, but to protect herself as she then slowly went for the other exit of the kitchen, still fixating me. When she had stepped out of the kitchen, she glanced over to the telephone in the hallway right outside, still pointing the tip of the knife at me. I assume she contemplated on her chances of successfully making a phone call to the police. She decided against it. All the while, I tried to stay as calm as humanly possible, tried to reassure her of my good will, and that, as shocking as my notes sounded, art sometimes had to be shocking, but she would not listen. I could do nothing. In a fight, I would have undoubtedly overwhelmed Rachel. But Ciel, what about Ciel? If I were to kill his mother, no matter how skilfully, no matter what brilliant explanation for her sudden death I could provide, Ciel would see through me. The purpose of my being would run through my fingers like the egg that Ciel had destroyed the previous day. I did not follow Rachel when she dropped the knife and turned away to escape the house through the backdoor. I was done for. It was over. I had had my fair share of perfect life in harmony for almost a year and now the time had come to redeem my debts. I picked the knife up that Rachel had left behind and looked at my distorted reflection in its blade. Now it was me that looked as pale as Death himself. I sat down on the kitchen floor, knife still in my hands, and contemplated on what to do. Should I take the chance and run away? Leave everything behind and escape? Or should I end my life right there? Perhaps Rachel would have liked the latter option. Of course, I would not do that because of course, I would not be here and write this confession today, had I taken my own life that day.

The telephone rang out of the blue. I stood up and thought about whether I cared about it or not. At the second ring, it had already driven me mad enough to just want to end the sound and I put the knife away and answered the telephone. The voice on the other end belonged to Meyrin, Old Miss Opposite's household help. Her voice was shaking and she stuttered, though she always stuttered and I did not think anything of it. I better come out of the house, she told me. Had Rachel told her already? Did _she_ , out of all people, want to confront me? No, she told me to hurry because a car had hit my wife. I beg your pardon? Yes, a car, it hit Mrs. Rachel, right in front of our house, and my son was there too, but he was not harmed.

I hung up without a further word and raced outside. The next moment happened in slow motion. A handful of curious people had been quick to notice the spectacle before me and now they surrounded Rachel, who was lying on the ground, eyes wide open, dead, her head encircled by a splash of blood in the form of a shining halo. Her strawberry blonde hair was stained with deep reds. She looked like she was a satanist cult's offering to the devil.

The driver that had hit her down rushed to me to apologise but, more importantly, to inform me that Rachel blindly ran onto the street just when he drove down the street and that it was not his fault. Of course it was not his fault. My wife had fled from our house and likely wanted to contact the police from the safe home of Old Miss Opposite. This would not have happened had that woman known her place and not stuck her nose into the private belongings of others. Emotions welled up within me. Ciel, where was Ciel? I fended the driver off and looked for the one that truly deserved his apology.

Ciel had just returned from school and stood about ten steps away from his unsightly mother. He was screaming and cursing, desperately trying to get closer to her but a neighbour held him back. I rushed to him, took him up into my arms and said nothing. After a while, he stopped struggling, laid limp arms around my torso and his face into the curve of my neck. I felt tears drop onto my skin and also tears well up in my own eyes. Silently, I stood there, holding this boy, my boy, up in the air, tears in both of our eyes, albeit for different reasons. The endless grief that his tears tried to wash away weighed about the same as my endless relief. Rachel had not been able to do anything to me and Ciel watched her die, by another's hand and certainly not mine. I was not to blame for her death, not even by Ciel. The neighbours' curious stares had shifted from the dead woman to widower and orphan in each other's arms, tears in their eyes. Without us noticing, local press had already found and snapped a photograph of us and tastelessly printed it with a horrible caption in the following day's newspaper.

I carried Ciel in and asked him to stay there and let me settle the matters outside. After a short argument, he finally agreed that it was better for him not to see his mother in this grotesque state, or it would imprint in his mind.

I went back outside again and was immediately greeted by a young policeman that looked like he had just seen his very first corpse. I hardly remember the content of our conversation, I just remember that I was shaking all the way through, though I do not know this from my own memory, but from the descriptions of curious neighbours that had listened in on our conversation. I do remember that my mind was elsewhere, maybe somewhere at heaven's gates to catch Rachel to thank her for her sacrifice before she passed through them forever.

After the policeman thought he had learned enough from me, Meyrin hesitantly inched toward me, holding something in her hands. “I-I found this book a few feet away from your... from Mrs. Rachel, I did. It was lying there, open – ” my heart skipped a beat, “ – but I didn't read anything, no! I mean, I don't understand a single word of French except for 'mahn-sierr', mahn-sierr. And I didn't mean to look, mahn-sierr Sebastian, I'm sorry, mahn-sierr Sebastian! But I wanted to return it to you, you see. It looks important and I don't think the police would care about it, would they?

She returned the journal to me, a little torn at the edges but content still safe and secret from everyone but me. I had had luck another time, for I assumed the police would, indeed, have had interest in the journal's contents and Rachel's sacrifice would have been for naught. The same absurd luck that prevented me from drowning my wife the previous year under the eyes of spectators now did the job for me. Good luck was the only force capable of a perfect crime and good luck was my accomplice.

Rachel was taken away and I went back inside, in search of Ciel. He needed me now and I wanted to be there for him. As heartless as the reader might have deemed me from my elaborations by now, the relief over my safety did not outweigh the concern for my beloved little boy. I was well aware of the emotional impact that the loss of his last remaining family member was bound to have had on him.

The faint sound of flowing water led me to the bathroom. I had a bad feeling. Its door was locked but it was possible to open it from the outside with a nearby key, so that was what I did. Inside, I found Ciel naked, cowering in the bathtub, beneath the shower head. His face was directed at the streaming water, eyes closed, and it was impossible to tell whether he still cried or not. He did not seem to notice me breaking in until I rolled my sleeves up and laid a hand on his shoulder. The water that came down on Ciel was ice cold; he had used up all of the warm water but it did not seem to matter to him, even though his lips had taken on a blueish tint and his skin was covered in goosebumps.

“Please come out of the shower and dry yourself. You'll catch a bad cold otherwise.”

Ciel just looked vaguely into my direction for a moment but said nothing.

“I beg of you.”

“What was she doing. Why did she try to cross the street so carelessly.”

“I don't know, Ciel. I don't know.” I was technically not telling a lie. I _assumed_ she tried to call the police from across the street but I did not _know_. “Now, please do me the favour and come step out of the bathtub.”

The boy granted me this one favour but did nothing beyond that. I turned the water off and grabbed a towel to dry his worn figure. First his hair, then carefully his face. Now I was able to see that, despite puffy eyes, there were no tears streaming down his cheeks anymore. I proceeded downwards, across his neck, his chest, reached beneath his arms to reach his back, then dried the arms, his lower body, his legs, his feet. Ciel still made no attempt at moving anywhere else and I took another dry towel and wrapped it around him, then picked him up and carried him to his room and onto his bed. This boy was in a state of emotional distress beyond my grasp. I had never experienced anything like it before. I wanted to support him but it was difficult for me to determine what exactly I could do for him. Ciel seemed like he was made of thin glass, about to break at the slightest impact of sudden pressure. Even his skin seemed more translucent than usual. His eyes were dull. None of the usual glow was there to be found. Their skies were hidden behind thick grey fog. I was afraid at his sight. Afraid I could break him with anything I did. The relief at my own safety slowly faded away into a sort of helplessness in front of the orphan. Caring for the weak was not my métier.

“May I get your pyjamas and dress you?”, I inquired.

Ciel nodded, eyes to the ground.

I stood up to get him briefs and his pyjamas, then helped him put the clothes on with the utmost care. A brush of a finger too hard and his skin would have torn. Fully clothed, I scanned over him one more time. At least I did not have to fear for him to fade away from the cold anymore, although his hair was still damp, as were his lashes.

I raised my hand to wipe the fringe out of the boy's face and then cupped his cheek. “I'm here, Ciel. I'm still here.”

Ciel said nothing.

“I'm here today and I will be here tomorrow.”

A moment of silence. Then the boy of glass raised his voice. “Don't leave me. Don't ever leave me. I swear to you, if you, too, ever leave me behind, I will never forgive you. I will... I will...” he swallowed down the urge to cry again.

Ciel looked like he would collapse anytime soon and I caught him in my arms before it happened. All I knew to do now was to embrace him and thereby force into his consciousness that I was there. To let him feel the body warmth of another living person by his side. I crawled into his bed, pulled the blanket up, Ciel to me and wrapped the both of us with the soft cover. It was a sunny day in May but cool enough to be comfortable beneath the sheets like this. Ciel nuzzled against my chest. I held him to me tightly with one hand, cupped his head with the other and played with damp strands of hair. As we lay there silently, I, the only one that was left to him, and him, my only reason of being, I had a realisation: Ciel would heal. And when that time would come, all of Ciel's love would belong to me. There would be nobody to share it with. Rachel had given me the greatest gift all over again: Ciel, my Ciel. Once again, genuine feelings of compassion had mingled with selfish joy. Only now that I bring these memories to paper do I realise how little of a good person I was, still am.

The exhaustion from the distress and my presence were enough to successfully help the boy fall asleep after a while. When his breath weakened, mine followed suit and I, too, fell asleep on this late afternoon.

It was about half past eight in the evening when Ciel rose from my hands and woke me up by sitting down on top of me. My mind still caught in a dream about little nothings and eyes not opening further than halfway, I looked up at the shape mounting me. The blue hour had almost ended and light in the room was scarce but despite of all of these unfavourable circumstances, I could see Ciel's face. Clearer and clearer with every moment of me further realising his presence. He had something that could be called an expression again, which was a relief of some sort.

“Did you have a nightmare?”

“Fuck me.”

“Pardon?”

“Fuck me. Fuck me like you've always wanted to. I give you my permission. Fill me up, make me forget, make me feel something else, tear me apart if that's what you want. Do it.”

Silence. I was still half asleep and needed a few seconds to process the meaning of Ciel's request. After some consideration, I gave my reply.

“I do not think that's a good idea tonight. You know there is little I would rather do, generally speaking, but right now, you don't know what _you_ want. I don't want to take you against your will, especially not in this state.”

“Shut up! I know exactly what I want, which is have my mind fucked out of me, have it numbed, if only for a moment.”

“No, listen–“

“We made a deal and this is an order. Don't you remember anymore? I tell you to fuck me and you fuck me, understand?”

I sighed. Ciel understood that as resignation, or at least an opening, and began to unbutton his pyjama shirt. The weak light making its way inside sculpted the pale chest that revealed itself below the fabric. I was weak. We both knew I was weak. I laid my hands on the faunlet's thighs, respectively. Ciel shed his shirt with a swift movement and exposed his narrow shoulders. He was as beautiful as always and as beguiling as never before. Still in a fight with my own bad conscience, I did nothing further, and Ciel, instead, began to handle the street clothes that I was still wearing. Slim fingers quickly unbuttoned my shirt. I took his hands to pause his motion.

“Alright, I give in. But please let me get something before I can't stop myself anymore, will you?”

Ciel thought for a moment. “If what you want to get is what I think it is, there's no need to. I don't need you to go easy on me.”

“Trust me, you do need it, we both need it. This has nothing to do with going easy or not.”

He sighed. “Fine...”

Ciel let me go and I rushed to fetch the small vial from my personal belongings. At my return, I placed it on the bedside table. Before I returned onto the bed, I took off my shirt and threw it to the ground. Ciel had pushed away the blanket and was waiting impatiently for me. While I crawled back onto the bed, he looked at the vial and asked, “When, where and how? Can you just go and buy something like that?”

“Last September, when I assumed I would soon be given permission to enter you, at the pharmacy and yes, I can. This is a lubricant for surgical purposes and if I purchase it far enough away, nobody questions it.”

“Well, now its time has come.”

“Indeed.”

I bent over Ciel. In his eyes was aggression he did not know where to direct, there was sadness and despair and maybe something I would dare to call resignation. His body spoke a different language. His muscles were tense and he overstretched his back, so that his soft little tummy rose up into my direction ever so slightly. Just looking at the boy like this, offering himself completely to my mercy, was enough to wash away every form of doubt I still harboured. I slid my hands down from his shoulders, across his chest and aforementioned tummy, to the waistband of his pyjama trousers, then slid my hands beneath it to peel both trousers and briefs off the porcelain boy's body in one movement. His exposed erection lay on his lower belly, screaming for me to kiss it, and so I did. Ciel let out a hearty moan and pushed his hips up. He did not need to hold back anymore, for there was nobody else in the house to eavesdrop on us. I lifted my lips, pressed his hips back down onto the mattress and viewed this living piece of nude art one more time. Ciel's breathing was laboured. He covered his mouth with spread fingers. I pushed the hands away to find access to his lips, then laid mine onto his and linked our tongues. After a short while, Ciel pushed me away. “Just do it already. I have no patience tonight.”

“I cannot 'just do it', or else I will really tear you open. And neither I, nor you want that, even though you claim otherwise.”

“Well then, at least take the rest of your clothes off. I want to see what you will push inside of me.”

I followed this order and bared myself to him completely. My frail little lover swallowed at the sight of my length. He had never paid as much attention to it as now that he would soon feel it fill him up.

I lowered myself to give him a kiss on the cheek and a few words of comfort, “Don't worry, little darling, I will prepare you adequately.” Meanwhile, I grabbed the lubricant from the bedside table. I sat up, opened the vial and dipped my middle- and index finger in to take some out. I pushed Ciel's legs further apart and lifted his hips to have better access to him. Before touching him, I looked at the boy's exposed intimate parts one more time, as if to raise my awareness of what I was about to do with him.

“Sebastian...” Ciel looked at me through slitted eyes. “Do it.”

And then I laid my fingers on his entrance and spread the thick fluid in circulating movements. Ciel made ever so tiny little moans; sounds as cute as nothing I had ever heard before. He wiggled his bottom a little, though not into my fingers. As I found the lubricant to be adequately spread, I dipped my middle finger into the vial one more time and spread generous amounts of lubricant on it. Then I looked at Ciel again and announced, “If you allow me, I will now begin.”

Ciel pressed his eyes shut and gave me a weak, “Yes.”

I pushed my middle finger into the centre of his tight muscle rosette. Fingertip barely in, the inexperienced boy winced at the sudden unfamiliar sensation. With rolling movements, I crept further up, little by little. He was burning hot inside and oh so tight. Nobody had ever touched him like this before, not even he. I was the very first person to feel his insides and the very first person to massage the tense muscle walls to relaxation. My finger halfway in, I accidentally brushed his prostate, and Ciel flinched and sighed, even though I had wanted to avoid that for the moment. I could not excite him too intensely yet.

I apologised for having to pull out again in order to get more lubricant. The small frame at my hands needed every help it could get and I did not want to risk hurting it more than absolutely necessary. My warning did not prevent Ciel from whining a little 'no' when I retreated, however. With the help of some more of my wonderful medical aid, I slipped back in and spread the substance within even deeper depths of him. Ciel reached for his erection but I would not let him touch it.

“No treats now, or you'll spoil your appetite for later and you don't want that, do you?”, I whispered into his ear.

“I can't take it... I need to...”

“I will not let you, though. You asked me to have my way with you and my way you will get.”

Ciel just whined at that.

I continued to prepare him. My first finger had made it all the way in. Deep inside of him, where he was even hotter, I moved it slowly but confidently. Ciel never said a single word, he just whimpered and moaned and sighed every now and then and increasingly moved into my movements. When I judged that he was ready for a second digit, I withdrew again and took some more of the clear fluid. Already not as tight as before, I stretched his entrance open even further by carefully inserting the freshly coated middle- and ring finger.

“Ah!”, came from Ciel at the stretch.

I moved my fingers synchronously down into the depths between the small boy's buttocks. His whole body was tense, his toes curled up and I noticed that it was getting more and more difficult to proceed further in. The situation called for a change of positions. I withdrew from Ciel again, flipped him onto his belly and raised his hips to have better access. Ciel took the opportunity to grab a cushion to hug and support himself on. I pushed my fingers back in and indeed, the position change helped. This way I had him prepared for another finger in no time. I repeated the same procedure of pulling out and pushing the next one in but this time, Ciel let out a pained cry. In my increasing impatience, I had been careless for a moment.

“My apologies.”

“No... keep doing it like that...”

“But it will hurt again.”

“Well, that's exactly what I want, you dunce.”

If the rude little boy wanted it so much, he might as well have got it. I pushed the three fingers deep inside of him, a pained cry, then twisted and coiled them up and spread them apart, another pained cry. His agitated voice did my own state no good service, either. The wider I spread him apart, the more desperate I was to finally, after so many months, violate him with my aching member.

“Seba-ah-aah!” He became louder.

One last time I added another finger.

“When are you going to” – a gasp – “put it in...”

“Patience, my boy. We're almost there.” I ached to do it more than he could ever know but I was worried I might seriously injure him if I overdid it.

“Please! Please! Just do it! Hurt me!”

I broke down. The last of my composure melted away and I withdrew my hand from the boy's behind to prepare my dripping erection to enter him. Ciel looked back and watched me do it in desperate anticipation. I took his hips, adjusted them to the ideal position and finally, I penetrated my beloved faunlet. At first, I just pushed my tip in; despite his pleads to treat him roughly, I refrained from any form of violence. Rightfully so, because even though I gave my best to go easy on him, the volume of a grown man's erect penis was almost too much to take for a virginal body as small and frail as his, no matter how desperately he needed the stimulation.

Ciel was hot and tight around me, almost too tight, he felt like everything I had ever wished for and more. Ciel, love of my life, lover of my dreams, he squeezed me and I almost tore him; I pushed inside and he pushed back; I whispered into his ear how much I loved his body, loved him, and he cried out in pain and pleasure. I could see tears well up in the corners of his eyes again and I was unsure if they welled up because of the corporal or emotional pain. I whispered into the gape of his neck, “You're beautiful. You're perfect. You're strong.” _You're mine._ Then I moved inside of him to push against that certain spot that had briefly excited him before already. Ciel let out a roaring moan and his twitching insides wound around my length tighter once more. I continued by moving in and out, all the while taking care to stimulate his prostate as thoroughly as I could. Once again, Ciel reached for his erection that was hanging down helplessly, but once again, I did not allow him to touch himself. That night, _the tight little boy would come just from me fucking him_ , I decided.

Ciel was heaving from his panting as my pushes increased in force and speed. With every thrust, I produced a different kind of nasal sound from him. I became a little tired of ramming him into the mattress and since I did not think he still needed this position for easier entrance anymore, I paused my movements within him for a moment to pick his body up from the bed and pulled it toward mine. I turned us around so I could lean against the headboard and let Ciel lean against my chest. The new sensation of so much of our skin melting into each other while we gradually neared both of our climaxes stirred up a new wave of longing within me. While I kept the high tempo of my thrusts up, I laid my lips onto the boy's temples and growled his name into his hair once every few kisses. In response, Ciel moaned louder and louder, and eventually, he moaned my name in reply to his and in a matter of a few more pushes inside of him, crying my name out loud, the beloved boy in my arms came. Then, as he rode out his orgasm, he actually started to cry silently. I followed after him quickly and spent deep inside of him, where I had wanted to spend for so long. If there really is something like heaven and hell, I am content with being sent to the latter place after my death, for I was allowed a feeling sweeter than anything heaven could ever provide within these realms of the living.

When I came to my senses again, I immediately withdrew from Ciel to turn him around to me and kissed the tears away that crept down his warm cheeks.

Ciel laid his hands onto my chest, looked me in the eyes, and whispered, “Did you kill my mother?”

Confused and slightly unsettled, I returned his stare. “You saw it happen, didn't you?”

“That doesn't matter. Don't lie to me. Did you kill her?”

“I would have never killed your mother. I was happy with our family of three. I thought you knew that.”

“Mhm...”

“On top of that, even if the police had never found out, how would I ever have been able to get away with it from you?”

“That sounds like you thought it through at some point.”

“I admit I did, though that was long ago, I was a fool and even then I came to the conclusion that it was a most moronic idea.”

“You are, indeed, very dangerous after all.”

“Trust me, I didn't kill her. I had no reason to do it.”

“I will never trust you... but I do believe you.”

This conversation left me behind with the shadow of a bad conscience lurking over me. I had not told a single lie. I had not killed his mother and I had not wanted her to die on this day, either. However, it were ultimately my actions that led to her escaping the house. Moreover, her sudden death proved itself a fluke to me and the conflict of finding joy in the misery of my sole reason of being did not leave me entirely cold.

The 10th of May, 1948, was the day after Mother's Day. Ciel was thirteen years and a little less than five months old and falling asleep in filthy sheets covered in drying stains of lubricant, my ejaculate and his. On the day after Mother's Day, our relationship as it had been before died and, like a phoenix, reincarnated.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was an emotional ride for me to write, hands down. It was really difficult for me to determine how human and humane I could write Sebastian without him being too OOC. Sometimes I tried to let him sound more cruel but I just couldn't do it. I'm weak. I need to work on that.
> 
> Let me voice a final goodbye directed towards Rachel: Sorry for everything I've done to you haha! We know so little about her from the manga and I just forced characteristics into her.
> 
> I hope I could stir some emotions up within one reader or another. I beg of you, leave me a comment if you liked this chapter, please. I hate to beg but I think this was one of the peaks of this story and a turning point and I just can't put it any other way than that I need affirmation that it was interesting and that there's interest in me continuing. Previous chapters have been getting less and less feedback and I'm starting to feel like I'm shooting these chapters into the void. Thanks for your consideration!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chances are that when I say something on tumblr like, "I'm working on [thing] but it will probably take a long time because I'm busy", I will just ignore all of my duties and dive straight into finishing [thing]. I have no control over myself.
> 
> Special thanks to Toboso Yana because the most recent chapter sort of supports the last third or so of this chapter.
> 
> More special thanks to ChromeHoplite for beta reading this chapter!
> 
> [Art for chapter 11](http://nighttimeteaparty.tumblr.com/post/163876162659/i-said-it-would-take-me-a-while-to-get-the-next)

I pressured the driver that had run Rachel over into paying for her funeral. The whole town attended the ceremony and it was too long and very dull, like funerals usually are. Ciel did not cry when he wished her goodbye. He just watched, unable, or unwilling, to speak a single word.

My improved relationship with the Midfords proved itself an asset. Both of them legal professionals, Mr. Midford offered a helping hand at settling matters after my wife's death – most importantly, to secure that I would quickly gain full legal guardianship over Ciel. The breakdown of Rachel's bequest was another significant service he provided. It was then that I had insight into the external fundings of the Phantomhive family for the first time. As I have explained already, my wife had long lived solely from the remains of her husband's dedicated work, yet I had not had the slightest idea about the gigantic sums of money she had received on a monthly basis in a time when most of the population only barely started to recover from the hardships of war. She had not led a modest life with her son, yet did her lifestyle never hint at the wealth that her husband had really left behind. Most of the money went straight into a fund for Ciel's sake. After my enquiry, Ciel admitted to knowing about this fund, although he never planned to take advantage of it. He hinted at a distrust of the means at which the money had been made. What means, I did wonder? Rachel had always avoided the topic – she loved to talk about her husband; not so much about the character of his business.

Neither did Midford tell me, although for the reason that he simply did not know. What he did know was that the flow of money would automatically move directly into Ciel's pockets at his mother's death. What to do with all of it? The boy did not want it and neither did I. With great amounts of money come great amounts of problems. I would rather sustain the both of us with my own efforts. Keeping a low profile seemed to be the most sensible thing to do.

After a short break, Ciel went back to school. I busied myself with bureaucracy and finalisations of my textbook and welcomed him back in the evening: Him, and only him. Everything had turned out rather nicely. It was only Ciel and I; I and Ciel. No mother, no wife, no distractions or threats or obstacles; just us. I had him, it was easy, I was happy. Ciel was not.

Everyday, Ciel came home from school, lazily dropped his books at the door, threw himself into my arms, pressed his lips against mine and demanded my love. Everyday, I made love to him and everyday, he wanted more. He wanted me quicker, harder, absolutely ruthless. By the time I had overcome the blindness that came with my lust and realised his primary intention of being hurt by me, like he had asked for at the very first time too, the boy had started to take desperate measures in the form of ugly insults and provocations, hoping of bringing me to a point where I would lose myself and injure him on purpose. To my shame, I have to admit, he was partially successful. He did anger me, although not with his insults, but rather with the very attempt at emotionally manipulating me. There was one time that my hand indeed slipped and in a raised voice I demanded of him to shut up. When Ciel cupped his glowing red cheek with an expression of satisfaction, I found myself again and did not fall victim to his words anymore.

Shortly after, I learned that he had begun to show a similar pattern of behaviour at school. Roughly two weeks had passed since Rachel's sudden death. It was not later than eleven in the morning and out of boredom, I was starting to make preparations for that day's dinner already (since the task had become mine to fulfil), when the school counsellor called on the telephone. He asked me to come to the school as soon as possible, not only to pick up Ciel, but mainly because he had to have a one-on-one conversation with me. Worried and with little idea of what had happened, I found the counsellor and Ciel sitting next to each other, in uncomfortable silence and light tension. Slightly dishevelled hair and a black right eye, the sight of my ward, for the first time, did anything but delight me. At my appearance, both struck a flash of relief. Before I could take Ciel back home, the man that I had talked to on the telephone earlier asked me for a word in a vacant room nearby.

“Mr. Michaelis, your son has recently been getting himself into fights with his classmates and today, the situation escalated.”

I sighed but did not reply; just waited for further elaborations.

“You don't seem particularly surprised. Were you aware of this?”

“No, I wasn't aware. But Ciel has been volatile around me recently as well. Allow me the question, in what way did he provoke his classmates?”

“I have no reliable accounts about the details but as far as I can tell, he has been increasingly disrespectful towards other boys. Today, three of them ganged up against him and beat him up.” The man hesitated to go on. “I hate to say it this way, and rest assured, the other three boys are facing their fair share of trouble, but he had it coming, in a way.”

Of course he had. I knew he had.

“I understand that you and your son have only recently been faced with a blow of fate. Ciel has never caused any trouble so far. Hence, please consider this conversation as nothing more than a friendly pointer. But you need to talk to him. He has been disrupting the peace in his class and it can't go on like this.”

I apologised for my stepson's unacceptable behaviour and promised to have a talk with him. The counsellor dismissed me with a stack of shiny pamphlets dealing with trauma coping and communication issues in families that I dumped in the next litter bin outside of the school.

Ciel seemed pleased to be sent home for the day. In the car, I finally addressed his recent misbehaviour.

“Ciel, you need to stop. You can't go on like this. I thought I could just wait for you to snap out of it while I believed it was only me that you were provoking but you cannot act like this at school. I mean, look at yourself. You meant for those kids to beat you up, didn't you?”

Ciel did not reply; he just frowned.

The truth is, I was annoyed with him. Maybe that was the reason why my foot stepped a little too hard onto the gas pedal. My voice deepened, became louder. “Answer me. You're looking for any chance to get somebody to physically hurt you, aren't you?”

“What does it matter to you?! All of a sudden, you act like you're my parent but actually, it's none of your business to tell me how I'm supposed to behave. You're fucking a little boy, remember? You're not in a position to judge the way I cope with myself.”

I applied the brakes maybe a little too suddenly and quickly parked the car at the closest possible spot. Then I turned toward Ciel, one hand still on the steering wheel and the other on Ciel’s head rest to support myself while I leaned over him. “Believe it or not: You, my _little boy_ , are stuck with me as your _legal guardian_ and as such, it is not only very much my business how you behave at school, but also how you treat yourself. I have little experience with mourning as my father died in my absence at a reasonable age and I admit I have little understanding of what's going on in your head right now; but this is not normal and it needs to stop. And stop coming at me with your abuse complaints because those are getting boring and you know as well as I do that I have never forced you to do anything. Hell, I would have never touched you, had you not been asking for it so badly!”

Ciel's frown became more prominent, his eyes narrowed, the corners of his mouth dropped and he looked like he was about to cry out of anger. Instead of crying, he tried to find words to properly express himself, even though he struggled. “I... This... I can't... I don't know. I just don't know.” He sighed. “I don't know why I'm doing this. It feels right to do it. Have you ever felt the need to hurt yourself, Sebastian?”

I leaned back into my seat. “No. I'm familiar with the concept but I have never even thought about it.”

“I guess this is the same thing, I'm just... I'm too much of a coward to do it myself. I feel like I...” He shook his head.

“No, go on. I'm listening.”

“I feel like I need to be punished. I don't even know what for but something tells me that I deserve it.”

“Do you blame yourself for your mother's death?”

“That's not it...”

“Do you blame _me_ for her death?”

“...I wish I could. It would make everything easier.”

I just watched the boy collect his thoughts.

“I'm so angry. I'm infinitely angry and I have nowhere but myself to direct the anger at. I hate myself, Sebastian. I hate myself with all I've got. Why is it _me_ that's still here? All the others are gone. My brother, my father, and now my mother. The one without purpose is left. Have I ever told you about my goals in life?”

I shook my head.

“That's because I have _none_. I just exist. I used to exist for others. For my family. For my mother. Being with her was my purpose. To keep her entertained, to keep her company. Now that's obsolete. I'm just here. I don't know what to do with myself. I'm a useless human being that doesn't know what to do with himself, or what to work for, and I hate myself. I look at my reflection in the mirror and I want to puke all over it. It feels only right to be hit and bruised. I feel like I need punishment for my pointless existence.”

I needed my own fair share of time to think about what to say next. I thought long and hard, yet I could not find the right words.

“You think I started the fights at school. All the adults at school think I did. The truth is, I would've just kept to myself but they couldn't shut up. You know what everyone has been saying recently? _Ciel must be an angel of death. Or maybe the grim reaper is following him around. Why else would everyone around him just drop dead? I'm worried about his stepfather dying soon as well._ I stayed silent for the first few days but they kept deliberately saying it loud enough for me to hear. I got sick of it and reminded them of their own sorry burden on society by pointing out the many ways they kept proving to be helplessly stupid and helplessly worthless.”

That sounded a little more like the Ciel I knew. It was refreshing. Not that he had not started, but to hear that he still had enough pride left to look down on specimens not worthy of breathing the same air he breathed.

The boy continued with a different train of thought. “I told you before that you mustn't abandon me but please, just throw me away soon so I can end it all. Don't keep me for your entertainment for as long as I'm interesting and then leave me to myself. I can't take any of this anymore, Sebastian. Please. Release me.”

I felt remorse. All this time, I had been counting the years, months, days until the estimated point in time at which I would do _just that_. Ciel had seen it coming all along. It was then that I, for the very first time, realised that I had been thinking of him as hardly more than a cheap handkerchief that I would dump in the waste as soon as I had used him up to a point of no mending. I felt my stomach twist at the realisation. I felt it twist even worse when I realised what I was about to say. _You're wrong_. I wanted to tell him that I would never do that. But that was clearly a lie. Or was it? At this very moment, I came to realise that Sebastian Michaelis was dead. An impostor had taken his place. I felt like I had become a different man.

If I think back to that time now, I should have seen it coming much earlier. I was not happy after Rachel's death. I should have been but I was not. Rachel's death was all I had ever wished for not even a year earlier.  Ciel, plagued by loneliness and despair, drowning himself in my feral touch, as if it was the only thing that could bring him any form of solace. A broken child, desperate for somebody's love. That was undoubtedly the true character of what I dreamed of when I first met Ciel. What did the means to acquire him matter to Sebastian Michaelis? That is what I should have thought, what Sebastian Michaelis would have thought. I could have just told this boy at my mercy that I would always love and never abandon him and have my fun with him. I would not have hesitated to do that a year earlier. But was I still the same man in the spring of 1948, after eleven months of life with Ciel Michaelis, né Phantomhive, that I was in the summer of 1947? I had changed Ciel, had made him mine, but had he perhaps changed me too?

Sebastian Michaelis was dead. “I won't throw you away.” I meant it. I was almost sure. “I never will.” Long live Sebastian Michaelis.

Ciel's jawline shook and he fought hard with himself to produce proper language. “If you're lying to me now, I will kill you before I kill myself. I swear to god, I'm serious.”

I knew that he was serious and in that moment, I was truly content to hear these words from his lips. “Ciel...” I pulled him into my arms and whispered, “If I prove to be a liar, please do not hesitate to kill me.” Should I end it all one day, _he_ shall see to _my_ end!

Ciel reciprocated the embrace. His fingers pierced the skin of my back through my shirt, as if to bundle all his force to support himself, as well as to prevent me from slipping away. He trembled all over.

Eleven months earlier, I had lost my way back from Ciel. Now, I was forced to find it again and I decided to destroy this very path. “You are the purpose of my being. Let me be yours. And when I die someday, and only then, whether it be by your hand or the strings of fate, only then will I allow you to die too.”

It was the first time that Ciel believed my words when I opened my heart to him. Perhaps it was the first time my words had truly been honest.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, if you're not following me on tumblr and you're curious, I post art for circa half of my chapter updates there and you can find it here: http://nighttimeteaparty.tumblr.com/tagged/lolita-au


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summer is almost over in the northern hemisphere of the real world and in this fanfic, it hasn't even started yet. I would've loved to write about summer when it's actually summer but then again, it doesn't really matter, does it?
> 
> Many thanks to ChromeHoplite for beta reading this chapter!
> 
>  
> 
> [Art for chapter 12](http://nighttimeteaparty.tumblr.com/post/164440287739/ciel-fanfic-update-the-good-part-about-drawing)

As soon as we arrived back home, Ciel went to the bathroom. Rachel's personal sanitary articles were still scattered all over the room, as if in anticipation of her next use. Ciel grabbed them one after another. First her tooth brush, then a rosemary shampoo that she loved for its mediterranean scent that neither Ciel, nor I used; a range of skin care products that he could not carry with just his two hands anymore – he now wrapped everything in a towel for easier transport – and an array of perfumes. At the last bottle, Ciel hesitated. It was Rachel's favourite scent – flowery, with a note of citrus. He put it back where it had originally stood. With everything else, the boy marched straight to the dustbin and dumped it all, towel included.

I walked up to him and before I could ask, Ciel explained that he was tired of seeing these objects all over the room when nobody would ever make use of them anymore. Those things were _unnecessary_ – considering our previous conversation in the car, the word choice was striking.

I was told to leave him to himself for a while. Ciel withdrew to his room. That served my own good too, seeing as the results of said car conversation left me with some food for thought of my own.

I had said and thought things that I did not fully understand; that I could not take back. Throughout my life, there had always been but a single constant: Sebastian Michaelis was the top priority. In all I did, my wellbeing was of utmost importance, no matter the circumstances, no matter the people involved. I had never thought it odd: Is not every man for himself?

What had Ciel done to break this constant? To make me want to give up my own freedom and independence, for the sake of another? Of course, in theory, I was still very able to do whatever I wanted to do, whenever I wanted to do it. Practically, I felt obliged to Ciel. No, not just obliged – dependent too. My own happiness depended on his, whether I wanted that to be the case or not. All this time, I had been thinking to myself that Ciel was my reason for everything, yet somehow I oversaw the moment my ulterior motives regarding him started to mingle with altruistic ones – the moment I truly let all other reason behind. That being said, is it truly altruistic to tend to the needs of the being that is one’s sole purpose?  Is it altruism to have the desire to be, in return, the single source of purpose to the other? Did it not all boil down again to wanting nothing but my own good? Whatever the answers to these questions, Ciel still only had me – but with the change of the perception of my own motives, I felt less remorse and more pure joy that I had become the anchor of his life.

Ciel was all I ever wanted and more than I ever imagined he would be. When I saw him for the first time, languid and shameless in his mother's sleeveless and revealing, oh-so-loose blouse, I fell in love with a doll: A masterpiece; the centrepiece of a sophisticated collection. Little did I care about the person behind those azure crystal glass eyes. Had it stayed like that, I would not write this confession today. However, during my pursuit of him, I made the inevitable mistake of discovering, then falling to the mercy of the vivid world that hid behind the blue. I realised that Ciel was rude, had a foul mouth, yet he could be well-behaved if he wanted. He was intelligent, curious and hard to fool; he cherished dangerous thoughts as opportunities to broaden the horizon, instead of running away from them in fear. He loved to play games and he was brilliant at winning them, though he avoided battles he could not win; he was stubborn, sneaky, arrogant, a lone wolf and he accepted me as his partner in crime; made me his secret as much as I made him mine.

Yet there was a central concern that bothered me. All my life, I had been chasing the ideal, the perfect beauty, the solace of this sorry world – these sweet little spritelets. At thirteen-and-a-half years, Ciel was still a perfect faunlet. My attraction to him was natural; a given. It would also be a given for the attraction to fade at the time his limbs became bonier, his face harder and his skin rougher. I did not want this consequence to follow. I wanted everything to remain the way it was then. No, I wanted to overcome my nature. It had just so happened that I had been created this way. My attraction to youth was an absolute. At least, I had always considered it an absolute. Now I was realising that when Ciel's youth was lost, I would lose myself too. I knew that after Ciel, there would be nothing left at all. If I were to leave him after all, I hoped that he would execute me in a most painful way, that the pain would imprint on my fading soul and haunt me in hell for all eternity.

I was deeply, madly, irrevocably in love. Or was I? What was “love”, anyway? If I was in love with beauty and the arts, what I felt for Ciel was more than any word could convey. Describing it as “love” was an insult, yet “love” was the only word I had. Though, is it not pretentious to assume that the word for love – the cherished, idolised, supposedly highest of all sentiments – is not enough to term it? L-O-V-E, four letters in English. L'amour in the language of my father. It could, according to wise minds long before me, build and nurture, though it could be destructive too. It could be selfish, it could be a danger to all but the lovers themselves, or it could be a danger to the lovers. At the very least, I knew that Ciel had acquired the power to destroy me, if he so wished.

Still, was “love” the word I was looking for? To this day, I cannot make my mind up around how to term this brand new concept. I, the poet, out of words! How outrageous!

I did not see Ciel again until I called him to dinner. Both of us with calmer minds, we were able to discuss the way Ciel would proceed at school. He did not want me to interfere with the bullies. He had little more than a month left until summer break would start yet again and he said that he was old enough to deal with these kinds of matters by himself. He promised me not to seek opportunities to be injured anymore in exchange for my promise to be available to him at anytime, without limitations.

Our new standards returned to him a sense of power and security that he had believed to be lost forever. I liked him better this way. There were many vices of which I am guilty; necrophilia is not one of them. Yet when Ciel had been at his very worst, sometimes I believed I had a dead boy in my arms. Finally, he was making demands again, and those demands were not meant to annoy me, nor produce a violent reaction from me, but merely out of his own selfishness. When he made his demands and called me by my name – “Sebastian” – as if under a spell, I could not help but fulfil his every wish. A terrible way to raise an adolescent and a perfect way to spoil a king. Ciel was still desperate for my touch, and my touch was the only form of solace that I knew how to give, yet he never complained about any gentleness toward him anymore. With his fading fear of being neglected came a growing acceptance of my appreciation of him.

It rained every day in the second half of May. The sun hid behind thick clouds and in the house, it was always too dark to do any work, yet too bright to turn the lights on. I would have rather slept all day, though I had little to do anyway, and the overall mood served as a wonderful excuse to, in fact, spend most of the day in bed – together. I had Ciel stay home from school for the rest of the week. I took him to the library, though against his will, for he was embarrassed of his black eye, worrying about the talk that would ensue. I insisted that there was nothing he needed to worry about; that a boy with a black eye is nothing out of the ordinary; looking back, it was a mistake of mine. There was one particular stare that we could have otherwise avoided but this is not the time to dwell on bad luck and bad timing.

We brought only a single book back home: A Poe, he was one of Ciel's favourites. The extended weekend was spent with many pots of tea, scarcely clothed beneath thick blankets and well-known poems and lesser-known tales by my good old friend Edgar with the child-wife resonating from my lips. Ciel had known all of these quite well, though never had he heard them in another's voice. And behold, for the very first time since Rachel's demise, I felt Ciel chuckle against my chest when I read to him the Literary Life of Thingum Bob, Esq. He had me know that the humorous stories had never been his favourites but that they were much nicer when read to him.

Lunch was not really something we considered a necessity, unlike little naps and kisses and caresses between stories, and when neither of our attention spans could bear entire short stories anymore, I proceeded with poetry.

 _From childhood's hour I have not been_  
_As others were; I have not seen_  
_As others saw; I could not bring_  
_My passions from a common spring._  
_From the same source I have not taken_  
_My sorrow; I could not awaken_  
_My heart to joy at the same tone;_  
_And all I loved,_ **_I_ ** _loved alone._  
_Then – in my childhood, in the dawn_  
_Of a most stormy life – was drawn_  
_From every depth of good and ill_  
_The mystery which binds me still:_  
_From the torrent, or the fountain,_  
_From the red cliff or the mountain,_  
_From the sun that round me rolled_  
_In its autumn tint of gold,_  
_From the lightning in the sky_  
_As it passed me flying by,_  
_From the thunder and the storm,_  
_And the cloud that took the form_  
_(When the rest of Heaven was blue)_  
Of a demon in my view.

Ciel rose from my arms and looked at me, a question written across his face.

_Just whom are you talking about?_

I wondered, too.

I drew him into a kiss and the kiss drew us into more. The rain grew stronger and the droplets knocked against the windowpane like spirits begging for shelter, drowning the voices of the demons melting into one below this roof.

It was on this extended weekend that Ciel completely abandoned his own bed, moved to the master bedroom and from then on only used his own room the way I used my office anymore. Every night, this boy lay next to me, and he was beautiful on my duvet. The crisp white blanket wrapped around his milky waist, a neck exposed like a defeated dog's, at the mercy of the superior hound. I woke him more than once because I could not keep my lips away.

Our days spent in the privacy of home were carnal, peaceful and pure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem in this chapter is "Alone" by - you guessed it - Edgar Allan Poe.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, many thanks to ChromeHoplite for beta reading this chapter!
> 
> Please read my end note for a question that I have for my readers.

Our days spent in the privacy of home were carnal, peaceful and pure; outside the fortress, they were not. I had not noticed it before but people were talking behind my back, too. Without Rachel around, I had quickly made it a habit to frequent the grocery store every morning soon after Ciel left for school. I had little interest in the idle chit-chat of housewives but after Ciel's complaints about his schoolmates' ugly accusations, I could not help but overhear similar words behind my own back too. “The Phantomhive Curse”, or “the poor fellow over there, having his beautiful wife taken from him so quickly and now being stuck with her arrogant brat”. Unlike the talk at school, those words were not meant for me to hear. The first time my ears caught them, I had the loud ladies know unmistakably that I did, in fact, hear them very well by passing them way too closely with a cold glare. How troublesome. In a small town like Ramsdale, what else would bored housewives do than elevate themselves by pointing out the misery of others? It was then that I started to consider that leaving town would do both me and my charge more than well.

The rainfall still did not stop. It must have been Rachel up above, shedding the tears her son did not dare to shed. Everyday, Ciel came home from school, exhausted. I thought that I might be able to distract him by forcing him to accompany me to the market in the afternoons, engaging him in the development of our dinner plans, as well as treat him to a chocolate bar or caramels, but not even in the presence of the child did the ugly whispers around me stop and I regretted the attempt. Children or adults, it did not matter: They were just the same, and it was my Ciel's fate that served as entertainment for the whole town. Whether it was disregard or words of pity, the contents of their chatter did not matter – Ciel had become the cursed boy with the dead family and he was sick of it. Sick of the fake smiles and feigned concern when neighbours inquired about far too many details of Ciel's state. He started to hate the town of Ramsdale.

He started to hate Ramsdale and yet he turned me down the first time I offered to take him away. The familiarity of our home was too important to him. When everything else he ever knew had been taken from him, the house was the only constant he had left. “It will pass,” he said, “The school year will be over soon.” However, the thought had implanted into his brain and its growth was unstoppable.

One late afternoon, Elizabeth Midford stood at the door, a box of freshly baked cupcakes in her hands. She came in hopes of cheering Ciel up but the fiendish boy sent her away with the advice not to associate with the _sicko that drove both of his biological parents into suicide and is probably working on the next one already_ (apparently, that was what the talk at school had developed into).

The girl was clearly hurt by Ciel’s rejection. When he disappeared in his room, I apologised for my son's rudeness and explained that his intention surely was not to upset her. She told me that I was wrong, that he intentionally pushed her away, and that it hurt her because he did so thinking that he did not deserve any help. She knew him well; better than I had thought.

Before Elizabeth left, she pleaded with me to hug Ciel tightly in her stead, because she hoped that at least _I_ could do that, for Ciel had _grown to love me like a real father_ , and she was sure that I _loved him like a real son_ , and that _a father was what he now needed the most_. I promised to hug him as tightly as I could; a promise easily made, for she had no idea how tight the embraces were that we exchanged, and I had to cover my amusement about how correct she was about him needing a body to cling to. For a moment, I felt a cruel joy once again about being the only one allowed to hold him.

Little Midford left behind the box of cupcakes. It contained a note from Mr. and Mrs. Big Midford directed at me: A reminder of their offered support, wherever they could be of any help.

The reminder came in handy and I accepted the offer quickly. I had a talk with my friendly pro bono lawyer about the financial and juridical possibilities of leaving town with my son for an unknown period of time.

Mr. Midford apologised to me because the first time he went through my wife's bequest, he had failed to notice documents that had been created only recently. He explained to me that the financial allowances that Vincent Phantomhive had left behind for his son were not available to Ciel until his eighteenth birthday – not entirely, at least. The fund for Ciel's sake had been owned by Rachel until her demise. It would have automatically gone to Ciel, and he would have had no access to it as long as he had been a minor. However, sometime in the past year, Rachel, in secrecy, made her husband – me – a benefactor of hers, too. Though, there were conditions, as simple as they were limiting: My access to Ciel's money was meant to sustain a living for the boy. Only if I were to find myself unable to provide to him with my own money would I be able to withdraw from the account. Even then, the amounts I could withdraw would be limited to the most necessary. Mr. Midford expected a positive reaction from me, though when it did not come, I had to explain to him that all I could feel was offence. This woman really had not believed in my academic work _at all_ . Midford laughed and patted my shoulder, then lost himself in stories about the times _his_ wife believed him in the wrong, and that she usually turned out to be correct with those doubts.

I had to admit that the news about our financial security were a positive revelation nonetheless. I did not think I would ever need any of it but the mere knowledge that it was there supported me in my plans to distance Ciel from Ramsdale for a while. Mr. Midford found it to be a wonderful idea; his wife did not share the sentiment entirely when I explained that I had no plans to return for the new school year. Despite that, the couple offered to watch over the house in our absence, and help administrate the publishing of and income from my comparative history of French literature that I had recently sent back to England for print. Running away with Ciel turned out to be a plan very easily executed, and that encouraged me to make the offer to Ciel again.

This time, I knew how to choose my words and the time to speak them. It was easiest to make Ciel listen to penetrating thoughts when I was, in fact, penetrating him. He was a slave to his own joy and that joy included giving in to my display of power when his will was weakened by the blood circulating in his lower body. That and the tumorous effect of the first time I made the proposition helped him listen when I announced, “I might as well just abduct you and take you all across the country, in search of a place where nobody will find us.”

Ciel moaned at that, my confirmation that I was reaching the depths of him that he was too proud to admit to have with a cool head.

“This is a large country and there must surely be much to see and many places to steal somebody away to.” I cannot deny that the prospect made my own blood boil as well.

“Of course you wouldn't stop at sodomy with your stepson, you would kidnap him too...” He pushed himself against me.

“I'll make you mine more than ever before.”

“You're terrible and I should run away from you...”

“But look at at yourself, you can't help but stay with me.”

Ciel knew that I was right and he knew that he now wanted me to leave him no other choice than to be taken away. Freedom in captivity was what awaited him. If it was not up to him, he could push the blame for abandoning the place onto me.

We continued our haggling about the conditions of our departure when there was physically nothing left of me inside of him but the liquified expression of my love for his form. Nuzzled against my chest, the middle schooler pressed that he wanted to bring the school year to a close, and after that, I would be free to steal him away to anywhere I wanted to go.

The remaining weeks were filled with preparations for our travels – mainly instructions for Mr. and Mrs. Midford on what to do with the Phantomhive house and possible administrative scenarios that might occur. I shared with them the first hotel we would stay at so they could call me if there turned out to be an immediate issue that I could help resolve.

I told the Midfords differently but I did not look for a place to stay, no. I had told Ciel that I would steal him away like a criminal would, and even though he knew that I was settling things for a clean and (mostly) legal departure, I wanted to stay true to my words at least to some extent. There would be no police following us but we would sure as hell run from one place to the next to avoid capture. And who knows, if we did end up with too little money for our escapade, why not pull a Bonnie and Clyde, instead of relying on boring funds? Only the two of us mattered; our lives, our fun, our happiness. Everyone else was just an extra in this feature film of ours.

Ciel was excited for our departure. He spent a good amount of time thinking about which things to take with him in the limited space that the car provided, and at first, the heap of “bare necessities” (clothes, a chessboard, two other board games, loads and loads of books) would have demanded he run after the car because his seat would have been needed to transport everything. After some consideration, he realised that he did not really need any of these things at all (except for the clothes, maybe) and he left it up to me to decide what to pack.

As for me, I struggled with leaving my personal library behind; I did not know how long we would be away. After all, I had made the effort to bring those books across the Atlantic ocean under the assumption that I would only stay for a season. Eventually, I packed a few select volumes that I thought would provide both Ciel and me good entertainment.

The weather improved. Whether it was a consequence of Ciel's lifting mood or just the expected arrival of summer, I do not know. On the first day of summer break, we were gone from Ramsdale. To where, nobody knew, not even we. In search of what the Land of Freedom promised to give, we set out to roam through the endless roads of the United States of America. Had we left only one day later, god only knows how differently events would have unfolded.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're on the road now. I could write little adventures without much meaning and fill a few chapters with those. They wouldn't benefit the overall story, though. I do want to write a bit of that someday but my question is: Should I rather proceed with the story and not get distracted with that kind of stuff, or would you prefer a "filler chapter" or two? I will write something like that no matter what, you're not gonna miss out on anything: If I don't write them as part of the flow of this fanfic, I plan to write them as sort of fragmented chapters that I would add after I'm done with the fanfic. I'd also like to do something similar with the long time that I hardly covered when Rachel was still alive. The question is just if the on-the-road-nonsense should be part of the "main fanfic" or if I should write and post them separately.
> 
> I'd be really thankful for opinions on that!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't realise I stole the hotel name from Final Fantasy XV until I read the chapter again for the first time ahaha
> 
> Thanks again to ChromeHoplite for beta reading this chapter!
> 
> [Art for chapter 14](http://nighttimeteaparty.tumblr.com/post/165975924174/ciel-chapter-14-is-online-psst-let-me-tell-you-a)

We set out to follow a route of scenic stops and tourist traps, recommended to us by a war-defying 1939 edition of some  _ The American Traveler's Road Guide  _ that Ciel had found between Rachel's old photo albums.  Our first stop, an inn with the somewhat foreboding name The Crow's Nest shared, according to this book, an eccentric style befitting its owner, an emigrated Bohemian and avid Kafka enthusiast who saw it as commemorative to have the hotel shaped in the image of the dead novelist, or so it said. We had no idea how one would shape a hotel after an author and curious as we were, we decided to find out for ourselves. At our arrival, however, the old Czechoslovak had already been dead for six years, the crow had turned into a blackbird under the next generation and the hotel had evolved into a popular, rather expensive honeymoon inn – a coincidence, or joke made by a higher entity, that left me quite amused.

Ciel was less amused. More than I, he was mindful of the impression we might make. Even though he did not assume that anyone would find us out, simply by the majority of clientele to whom the hotel catered, for there was a young family there too, waiting for the keys to their room at our arrival, he was still embarrassed. I left him on a sofa in the lobby while I went to check in and fetch our keys. On my way to the reception, I caught the abashed teen-ager burying his face in his hands from the corner of my eye.

The hotel was busy with new arrivals – something that would not have surprised me at the beginning of summer break, had it not been for the fact that this was not a hotel preferred by families. It did not matter, I waited in line until it was my turn to be taken care of by the concierge. I had placed a reservation after all, so there was nothing I had to worry about.

“Welcome to The Blackbird's Nest! Mr. Sebastian Michaelis... we reserved a bedroom with a queen sized bed for two nights for you and your wife.”

“No... no, there must be a mistake. I'm here with my son, not my wife. I asked for twin beds.”

An uneasy expression appeared on his face. “I beg your pardon, I have received a reservation for Mr. Sebastian Michaelis and his wife, Ciel.”

“Ciel is my son; not my wife. I explicitly asked for twin beds for this reason.”

The concierge shuffled through his papers. “Oh, oh, I'm terribly sorry, Sir, terribly sorry! It is my mistake, my very own! I had your names and the reservation forwarded and assumed that the mention of twin beds was an error. I regret to inform you that we are all out of twin bed rooms. As you can see, we are incredibly busy at the moment. I am truly sorry to ask this of you but would you put up with sharing a double bed with your son over the weekend? Of course, we will see to a special discount as our means of apology, Sir...”

Obviously, I did not mind at all. My original intention had been to rent a room with twin beds so as not to raise any harmful suspicions surrounding us but if it was the hotel that had us share a bed, it was not my wrongdoing at all, not at all. I sighed almost too theatrically. “Well, I suppose it can't be helped. My son is in a slightly difficult phase of his development into a young man and might protest a little but with good reasoning, I will be able to talk some sense into him.”

“Thank you so much for your understanding! I am truly embarrassed about my mistake. I am really not good with French names.” The man turned around and reached for two keys.“Room number 304. Here you are, Sir. Your luggage will be brought upstairs.”

“It is an unusual name, even in France. My wife thought of it.” I took the keys. “Thank you.”

While the bellboy saw to our luggage, I explained the situation to Ciel. He turned a little pale at first, his lurking fear of being found out growing in the back of his mind, but when I brought up that it just was not up to either of us to do anything about it, and that it was entirely the hotel's fault, he relaxed again.

There was nothing Kafka-esque left to the original design of the hotel. Instead, the new generation of owners had invested much money into expensive furniture but had not been particular about the style of the objects they purchased, with the result of a rather eclectic look to the entire house. It did not matter, I hardly had to pay anything for our room and the bed we were bound to share was a very comfortable one. In that respect, the honeymoon nest proved itself worthy of its recent reputation.

Ciel and I wanted to have dinner in the hotel restaurant but first, we needed to do something about our dishevelled appearances. The long drive under the summer sun had taken its toll on us and we were both exhilarated to finally be able to shower. Ciel took the first turn.

While the boy was occupied under the shower, I further inspected the room. It was unlike anything I had ever seen in Europe and over the course of our travels, I would learn that it was just like anything I would find in the New World: On first glance, but only the very first, all looked rather neat. All the new carpeting and curtains and a free alcoholic welcome drink for two that had been placed there before our check-in (it tempted me to try to intoxicate Ciel, just for the fun of seeing what would happen, but as with many impulses one spontaneously has, I deemed it wiser not to act on it) could not distract from all the little faults. Once the subtly but annoyingly misaligned wallpaper had caught my attention, it never entirely let it go again, and I followed its traces to the ground and into the corners and soon understood that whoever had refurbished this room had had particular ideas about the overall look but no attention to detail. The wallpaper went down the exposed areas of the wall but as soon as it hit the corner of a dresser, or the bed's headpiece, or the ground, it just stopped. The ends were just chopped off, walls behind furniture remained naked, and there were neither cornice, nor skirting boards, to finish the walls against ceiling and ground. Technical equipment was installed in a similarly sloppy way: A torchère of distinctly French design stood in one corner of the room, cables extending to the power outlet all the way over to the next corner, completely ignorant of their untidy appeal. Most peculiar to me, however, was the the odd feel of stepping on the ground: I walked three circles through the room until I realised that both floor and walls were aslope. Not dramatically, not in a fashion that impaired the way you would walk through the chamber, but enough to notice and more than I had ever experienced in any modern building in France, or England, or during my travels through other countries of the Old World. I found it hilarious.

My absorption in the flaws and faults of this superficial room and their possible symbolism of society as a whole was interrupted when Ciel returned. Now it was my turn to clean myself, and while I was showering, I wondered if Ciel would take notice of the botches too. Probably not – for the Phantomhive house had had its own fair share of similarly curious imperfections, though I had always credited those to Rachel's housewife-style make-shift solutions.

At my return, I found Ciel lying on the bed, only half-dressed, dozing off. Fragile, pale and calm, the usual mirage of one of heaven's messengers; the effective disguise of this truly faunish little imp. I was rather tired myself and so before I even dressed, I joined him in bed; Just for a moment, dinner could wait that long. I pushed his limbs aside to wrap him with mine. Ciel winced at the sudden touch, then relaxed again as he recognised me next to him. He rested his head against my chest and listened to my steady heartbeat while I caressed his cheek. I had almost dozed off myself when I heard the boy call for me weakly.

“Sebastian...?”

“Mhm?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Go ahead.”

“What made you pick up writing?”

I needed a moment to compose a cohesive answer to his inquiry in my head. I had never really thought about it. My drive to write came naturally to me; like hunger, or thirst, or lust. Even in times when my means of earning money did not demand for any creative writing, I needed the outlet. Fragments of stories or poems that I wanted to pursue someday (alas, they shall rest in premature peace now) had always been strewn across my notebooks and other personal belongings, even back in Ramsdale, in my journal, between my daily records. My temporary habit of recording my days was just another form of literary expression.

Some consideration eventually helped me to articulate myself. “I suppose... paper is my oldest friend; always loyal to me.”

With his forehead still against my chest, Ciel absentmindedly tapped his fingers against my ribcage. “A loyal friend?”

“It listens to my darkest thoughts, my most selfish wishes, my most deplorable intentions and yet it doesn't abandon me. There are things that just cannot be said to anyone but paper, wouldn't you agree?”

“I bet most of what you think is along those lines.”

I chuckled. “Perhaps you're right.”

“You are a lonely man, aren't you?”

I moved my hand into the nape of the boy's neck to play with the ends of his hair. “I've always considered myself a natural loner, not lonely. But I suppose I  _ was  _ a bit lonely. Until recently.”

Ciel needed a moment to deduce what had changed  _ recently _ , then complained, “You're terribly cheesy sometimes, do you know that?” He was wonderfully easy to fluster.

“I'm just being honest with you. And apart from that, I suppose it comes with the profession.”

Now Ciel chuckled. “I wonder if it's the fate of everyone that has an affair with a writer to listen to these kinds of cheesy comments.”

“If that bothers you so much, you better brace yourself because I can still go much cheesier, you know?  _ Honey _ .”

The boy lifted himself from my chest. “Nooo, don't! I can't take it! Not pet names now! Argh!”

“There's no way you can stop me now.”

“Oh yes, there is. I'll shut you up.”

“Ah, yes? How are you-”

Ciel forced his tongue into my mouth. He left me no choice but to give in and over the course of his violent intrusion, I forgot the sickeningly sweet words I had planned to torture him with. If it had not been for the slightly too thin boy's grumbling stomach, I would have gladly forgotten about my own hunger too, but life-sustaining measurements, like the intake of nourishment, had to be given priority.

The restaurant was decorated in a similar fashion as our room: Somebody had paid much money for expensive furniture; though not as much attention to detail. More than one thing was off but I shall not bore the respected reader any further with my ramblings about interior design.

The lucky circumstances of our inexpensive lodging inspired me to motivate Ciel not to hold back with any extravagant dinner wishes and that translated to him as encouragement to order not one, but two pieces of cake for dessert. I had never seen the boy eat this much and it came as no surprise that after a three-course-meal with double the desserts, his stomach was bloated and he writhed in pain when we returned to our room. “Oh my god, I'm dying,” he cried, “but I have no regrets... stop laughing at me, Sebastian, or I'll kick you somewhere that will make you roll on the bed just like me!”

I had hoped to make use of the opportunities our shared bed invited us to explore but Ciel had betrayed me with cake and there was no love left for me that night. I barely managed to force him off the bed to brush his teeth and change into his pyjamas (“I know, I know, I'm not a child anymore, you don't need to tell me.” – “Then get off the bed and do it!” – “Uuugh.”) and after that, we went straight to sleep. It had been a successful day: Ciel did not seem to have spent a single moment thinking of pains of the past.

I awoke to the little tease massaging me through my pyjama trousers. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, my ward was everything but an innocent little boy. When he noticed me come to my senses, he stopped. “You dirty old man! You were rock hard in your sleep. To your misfortune, my service ends here, I was just curious to see if you'd wake up from that.”

“Where do  _ you _ even touch me when I'm sound asleep, you  _ dirty young man _ ?”

“I just accidentally brushed your crotch with my knee when I woke up, it certainly wasn't my original intention to fondle you in your sleep. That's more along the lines of something  _ you _ would do, not I. Well, without good reason, that is.”

I tried to pull Ciel to me and have him assist me at relieving myself but all I got was a playful lick on my lower lip before he pushed me away and jumped off the bed.

“Old man, I'll get ready for breakfast now and wait for you down in the lobby. I'll check the newspapers they have there and in the meantime, you can see to your problem alone. But don't take too long.”

And so, the miniature devil left me to myself, I cursed into the silence of the room but did not take too long. At least  _ one _ of us was in a splendid mood, I thought.

The splendid mood had faded when I caught up with Ciel in the lobby. Instead of the playfully evil grin from earlier, a concerned frown met me downstairs.

“I just had the oddest of conversations with a hotel guest, Sebastian.”

“What did you talk about?”

“Well, the topic itself wasn't all that odd... he came up to me, saying that if he wasn't mistaken, he knew me from many years ago.”

“That sounds like something a predator would say, to lull you into following him.”

“But he really did know me. He asked me if I was Ciel and I confirmed that. He seemed familiar to me too but I really couldn't tell from where I knew him... half of his face was covered beneath his messy bangs. He looked scruffy overall; I can't remember my parents having relations to anyone looking that untidy. He seemed really out of place, like he wouldn't be able to afford staying in a hotel like this.”

“What was his name?”

“He wouldn't tell me. He said he'd tell me his name if I told him a good joke but I just left it at that.”

“That certainly does sound unsettling.”

“Doesn't it? I felt uncomfortable at that point but I didn't know how to fend him off or escape the conversation. I didn't wanna go back up to our room either... He kept asking me questions I didn't want to reply to; whom I was staying with, to which I replied ‘with my family’. Then he asked what we were doing here, if he could talk to my parents, why I avoided answering his questions, whether I am  _ happy _ ... well, who wouldn't avoid those questions!”

“Is he still here?” I looked around the hall for a man that fit the description.

“No, he disappeared just before you came here.”

Now I frowned too. “Let's have breakfast for now but I would rather not spend the second night here. We might not be crossing any lines just by staying in a hotel together but I would rather avoid the attention of suspicious, unidentifiable ghosts from the past.”

“I couldn't agree more but can we please not drive as long as yesterday?”

“You can trust I don't want that either, Ciel.”

After a simple continental breakfasts, I sent Ciel back up while I arranged our  early departure. Maybe it was an overreaction on our side but better to be safe than sorry. I regretted missing the chance to indulge in a little more intimacy with the absurd knowledge of that hotel's primary purpose in the back of my mind but ultimately, it was a loss I could live with. Off to our next destination we were.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian might make himself unpopular with the American jury members with some of his comments (even more so than he probably already is)
> 
> Sorry @ TheVillainousNoble for saying there will be something like a wake-up handjob in this chapter and then not giving you the real deal. :'D


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is 70% smut - be warned, or look forward to it, whichever applies to you.
> 
> Many thanks again to ChromeHoplite for beta reading this chapter!
> 
> [Art for chapter 15](http://nighttimeteaparty.tumblr.com/post/166774226189/this-is-meant-to-look-like-a-sunrise-but-it-looks)

I left Ciel two options. One was a drive, praised by our little elderly travel planner, following the traces of local names such as Nathaniel Hawthorne, Herman Melville, Mark Twain or Emily Dickinson; the other option was a bit of nature, a bit of sight-seeing, a bit of beach and maybe a tiny bit of culture on the way. Ciel went for the latter option. He was not _'crazy'_ about camping or hiking or the like, and he had had enough of that the previous summer, but after the _'bummer'_ that the previous hotel had turned out to be to us, he preferred avoiding literary names for a while. That, and the trip would have otherwise started to feel like a school field trip. Thus we drove on, following a road with a view of the sea.

There is no such thing as “ocean blue”. The ocean has as many different faces as there are languages spoken along its coasts. There is the bright turquoise encircling the caribbean islands, framed by bowing palm trees; there are the rocky Yugoslavian Adriatic coasts, glowing gradients of water as pure and clean as the innocent blank first page of a paperback coming fresh out of print; there is the deep darkness of the North Sea, seemingly the shadow of the ever-present light of midsummer, and there is the cornflower blue of the Atlantic coast of New England in June.

Our next lodging was a bed and breakfast located just an hour away, on a small cliff facing this Atlantic ocean. It was not a place where people stayed longer than a night and the cottage that housed us was calm, as was the coastline. When our hosts heard the (slightly altered) story of why my wife was not accompanying us, they did not hesitate to mention their own widowed daughter, who had lost her husband to the Germans, and was, so they insisted, still as beautiful as on the first day of her sadly childless marriage. Then came Ciel and played the child, demanding in a most infantile tone my attention and company to explore the area. With his help, the conversation died off quickly and we headed outside. The elderly lady had suggested we follow the shore northwards, for there was a war veteran living in a hut who nowadays occasionally took joy in teaching the occasional vacationers and their sons how to fish, and a few miles further up, we would soon reach a village with a darling little café at the beach.

There really was not much to do in the area but explore its nature. Half an hour's worth of strolling brought us to the mentioned café and although the walk proved rather scenic, and we discovered an abandoned lighthouse on the way, none of that kept us busy for more than half an hour. In the end, we did not bother to have much at the café and the lighthouse, despite it having ignited a spark of boyish curiosity in my young companion, averted our further inspection by proving to be tightly shut.

There was a forest southwards of the bed and breakfast. Ciel was not one drawn into the great outdoors but he was open to giving my guidance a try. I had never been a man of nature either, nor was I in the possession of abundant knowledge about these matters; however, I did appreciate the aesthetic appeal of certain flora and fauna and the impressions natural light made on them. Over time, I had made the boy more receptive to little pleasures like the contrast of a dark tree crown against the cloudless, pale green sky at sunset, or the shimmering fragment of a butterfly wing stuck in a cobweb.

The forest followed the line of the cliff. It stretched over about half a kilometre, or a quarter mile, though we only explored a small area. There really was not much to find there other than the wonderful view of the ocean and the secludedness – and that was all I really wanted for the moment.

Ciel spent most of the rest of the day in our room, listening to the radio, while I entertained our friendly hosts with true lies and fictitious facts about my wife, my son and my French heritage. At night, I pettily refused Ciel as he had refused me the previous one. We slept each in our own beds until at four in the morning, the alarm clock that I had secretly set rang us awake.

After suffering a few insults, I managed to convince Ciel to accompany me outside. Yet again, I took him to the forest and we stopped at a clearing.

There it was, point one on my secret bucket list of experiences to be made on our road trip. In a private show, the sky changed its colours right in front of our eyes. A cool breeze sent a shiver down the spine of the heavy-eyed boy next to me. I drew him to my chest to warm him; he thanked me for it by accepting the gesture, leaning against me. Eventually, the sun revealed its face above the horizon. Rays of light laced themselves through the tree crowns above; others embraced us upfront with their warmth. “June is fine,” Ciel said. “The heat can get suffocating in late July and August, even at night, but June is fine.”

The air was rich with qualities that had prior been unfamiliar even to me, at least in this specific constellation: The smell of sea salt mixed with conifer essences that embraced us; the soundtrack, an improvised jazz melody of the joint efforts of waking seagulls and crickets and the birds of the woods; the impartible noise of crushing waves and the wind in the leaves. Ciel by my side, paying attention to the peculiarities I pointed out. Ciel when he closed his eyes and the low sun cast shadows below his lashes. Ciel when I reached for his cheek to caress it and he leaned into the touch and I felt the sun's emerging warmth radiate from his skin. The sea, and the sky, and Ciel.

We were alone, protected by the trees. I bent down to him. Ciel did not refuse my kiss. He did not refuse me either when I started to feel him through his clothes with my hands. He made a soft gasp when I unfastened the three upper buttons of his shirt; he laid his hand into my neck when I kissed him between the collar bones. When I sank to the earth beneath us, he sank onto my lap.

“Sebastian”, he exhaled, hardly audible and with a tenderness exclusively for me to know; a tenderness that never failed to reach a part of me I had, before Ciel, not known to be inside of me at all. I caught the remainder of softness in his breath with my mouth; inhaled the air he had used already. Ciel held onto my shirt tightly while I completely unbuttoned his. He was warm; not only his chest under my lips but also the hands that I clasped with mine; the hands whose fingers more often than not were cold, they were warm now.

One of his hands still in mine and my lips right below the ear that belonged to the opposite side, I unbuttoned my own shirt. I took it off and one-handedly spread it on the ground while I held Ciel to me. He understood that it had been placed there for him and he helped by lying down upon it. His goosebumps had me know that he was missing the warmth of my body. I bent down and over him and brushed his skin with my hot breath. First his rosy pink nipple, then the protruding ribcage, and finally, I exhaled beneath the waistband that I lifted from his skin. I unbuckled his belt, unfastened his trousers and, together with his briefs, pulled them down his legs, to his ankles. Ciel's attempt to say something was drowned out by a seagull's cry. I wanted to undress the boy entirely but as I looked at him again, I could not help but be in awe with the awkward impression he made with his ankles tied together by his own shorts, kept in place by the saddle shoes he was still wearing: A design I appreciated on his feet. I assumed he liked them because adults wore them too, and I liked them because his pair was of a distinctly childish shape.

The cool air did nothing to extinguish what had ignited between the boy's legs. I enclosed Ciel's hardness with my tongue and he whined. One of his hands found its way to my head and he curled his fingers into my hair. I closed my eyes and moved my lips in collaboration with his lifting hips. The smell of sea and cedar mingled with Ciel's and I found my trousers growing tighter and tighter, though I did not grant myself the relief of removing them yet. Instead, I finally freed the boy from the restricting shoes and trousers he had still left on. I went back to where I came from, then moved my tongue from the boy's shaft along the line back to his rear; I lifted it for better access.

When I slipped my tongue inside him, Ciel instinctively spread his legs even further apart than they already had been. A gesture so purely wanton, it produced from me a reply by growling into the depths of his body. He shivered again – still partly due to the chilly morning air, as I could tell from the goosebumps spreading all over his body again. I realised my unfairness – still half clothed, while he lay beneath me, completely exposed. I sought to warm the boy with another kiss on his neglected lips and an embrace, to which he kindly replied by unfastening the set of clothes that covered my lower body. I took the hint and rid myself of them, then, as we were almost equal (I left the boy the protection of the opened shirt clinging to his arms), Ciel wrapped his legs around my hips and drew me toward himself. I let myself be drawn and closed the distance between his torso and mine. My warmth was comfortable to him and for a while I did nothing but cover the best of the thin adolescent's body and pecked his cheek and jaw and ear while he watched the reflection of the rising celestial body whose light gradually turned from bronze to gold. My pecks turned into proper kisses and I felt a smaller length jerk against mine. Soft hands wandered onto my back as I stroked one of the thighs that wrapped me so tightly and I whispered into his ear in French that I was enraptured by the sky this morning. It was on these occasions that his judgment of my silly old puns gave way to the pleasure his acceptance of my appreciation could bring. Admittedly, the language played its part in that – the language of love was our language of lovers; a code for us to communicate in secret, for his own proficiency had long since surpassed John and Jane Doe's high school French.

Ciel's legs kept me close to him. I did not want to break our touch, hence I started to move horizontally; I ground against him, back and forth. Ciel bent his head back, mouth agape with a silent moan. I continued my movements and with my free hand I caressed what I could reach of the side of his body: a heaving ribcage, a hipbone and lastly, a supple thigh. While I kneaded it, appreciating its specifically faunish eroticism, Ciel tilted his lower body in a way that had me understand that he now wanted friction elsewhere.

I had nothing with me to ease my entrance into him. I had not foreseen this turn of events when I led the boy into the secludedness of nature. The only option I had was to prepare him with my tongue. It would have been an impossible scenario at a different point but I was confident it would work. Time had passed since my very first intrusion; over the course of many long nights, the small frame below me had become shaped to host me in its warm refuge. Stretching him appropriately was not the problem and I devoted my full attention to wetting him as well as I could.

Ciel wrapped the sides of the shirt he was lying on around his body. I did not want to take too long; I could not let my fragile playmate catch a cold from the lack of my warmth. As soon as I deemed him ready for me, I crawled up above his upper half again and slipped my arms between the shirts and his bare back. The boy was quick to hold onto me again and he lifted his heavy head to steal a kiss from my lips. I cupped his head with one hand and arranged his legs for me with the other. Then I asked him to assist me by spitting into my hand because, I claimed, I had spent so much saliva already and I had yet to prepare myself; I did not really need his assistance but I did want his bashful reaction – “You're so obscene” – ah yes, there it was – and then he took it upon himself to wet his hands and reached for my erection, and I cannot deny the superiority of his touch over my own.

I slid into him – slowly, carefully, a little hesitantly. My desire for Ciel could not outweigh my concern for his physical integrity and unlike the first time I penetrated him, Ciel now appreciated the concern. With my unoccupied hand, I stroked his thigh, then his lower belly, then his thigh again, and thereby helped him relax. The boy formed an 'O' with his lips and as I crept deeper, he relieved himself with voiceless moans.

Ciel tried hard not to be too loud. It was early in the morning; so early that nobody except mad tourists would have taken the effort to watch the sunrise from a forest glade. There were no other tourists around, so the risk we were taking was barely enough to positively thrill us. Despite all that, Ciel kept his voice down and his muffled whimpers when he pulled me lower and buried his face in my shoulder almost sounded like an expression of pain, rather than pleasure.

It got warmer. I could not tell if it was just the rising summer sun to thank for, or if our bodies warmed each other that much. Neither could I tell if the flush painting my lover's porcelain face red was entirely his own colour, or if the ambient light helped with its apricot tint. Entirely his own was the sultry breath, as well as the moist lips it came from. When I slid my entire length inside his lower entrance, I laid my lips onto his to swallow a possible involuntary cry; though Ciel, instead, just convulsed around me and it was I who sighed into our kiss.

We had shared many moments of intimacy and countless were still to follow: some burned of passion, sometimes ruthlessly so, yet the most vivid memories do I have of moments as soft and careful as that morning in June. We did not need any words for we were one; conjoined or not. My earlier teasing words had not been necessary; neither was any other verbal communication as the plain lift of a fingertip could convey all relevant information between us. It was not necessary when Ciel started to chant my name, first under his breath, then, as our synchronised movements gained pace, slipping some voice into the song. However, it was my favourite song – I knew what he felt and he knew that I did, yet when “Sebastian” rang from his throat, tangled between his vocal chords and almost strangled him, it was not to address me, or to please me, but to seek his personal comfort in the sound of my name, and that – his selfish use of my identity – that, dear ladies and gentlemen, was the greatest pleasure of all. Ciel was mine, oh, he belonged entirely to me; he had given up on, or maybe forgotten about, viewing me as his opponent and instead given in to the alternative option: accept himself as a part of me and me as a part of him.

I peppered kisses over his face and neck but never his lips, so as not to let a single “ _Sebastian_ ” go to waste. With increasing excitation, the frequency of our movements with and against each other increased; so did their intensity, so did the pressure of what was flowing between us – in fact, the healthy, yet almost tachycardiac sinus rhythm spreading itself in every last one of our body parts and our synchronised, yet different motions were all too akin to the pumping organ whose purpose not only poets but all users of language like to misattribute with matters of affection. Perhaps I had not been the first one to make the comparison and the “heart” was chosen the centre of love because it looked, acted and felt like two lovers tangled on the forest ground.

In any case, our rate soon reached its peak frequency and almost-but-not-quite synchronously, we pumped our life-giving fluids forward; one into the other and the other into the periphery.

I quickly withdrew from him – spent, though not yet flaccid. With a small 'pop' we parted. I watched the futile attempt of a thin string of ejaculate to keep the connection between the tip of my member and his inner walls intact, only to tear as I moved further away. As Ciel lay below me, no concept yet regained of time or space or his identity, I lowered my face to his well-used entrance, traced the widened muscle rosette with my tongue; first outside, then inside. Again, I raised my face from him to watch: This small boy, spread apart just for me, scarlet swollen and slightly irritated entrance, with the help of just a thumb gaping open so widely I could see the fluid I had filled him up with slowly flow toward the light of day. _How barbaric and unnatural, to force a young and not quite ripened body into copulation_ is the common consensus of our time and culture but let me counter that complaint with solid proof in my favour: How could his body fit my own frame so perfectly well if our unison had been against nature? In what way was it barbaric to take what was mine when _he_ was the one that begged me to take it? You see, his faunish body knew its purpose, and by giving in to his allure, I only followed to tend to Ciel's most basic needs and cravings. The gaping, oozing entrance was my proof.

I slid two fingers inside of him to wipe away some of my trace, sucked them clean and then lifted Ciel up to switch places, so now it was me who lay on the ground and he rested on top of me, his ear on my heart, like he always liked to do. As we lay on the ground like this, there was no chirping of birds, or crushing of waves; no flowers or trees encircling us. There were only Ciel and I and our breaths and our heart beats. Perhaps we had just lived the laissez-aller that the characters in Manet's Luncheon On The Grass insinuated on, I imagined. We closed our eyes and gold turned into white.

When we returned to our inn, the owners, both of them early risers, had already gotten up and greeted us; not without surprise at seeing come home at this time and as dishevelled as we were. I explained that I had taken notice of the forest on the cliff the previous day and that I took Ciel there to watch the sunrise, and diverted from the truth when I lamented that a careless step resulted in the both of us falling to the ground; my back to the soil first, Ciel tried to catch me but got torn down too and that was the reason for our untidy appearances and, most of all, my dirty shirt. Afterwards, I explained, we got caught up in lively conversation and that is why we stayed in the forest for so long. The old couple found it rather adorable how father and son set out to adventures on early summer mornings and forgot about the time along the way.

Ciel and I went back to sleep again for another hour or two – tangled up in a single, way too narrow bed, and although it worked for that short of a while, it drove me to the conclusion that I would thereon start to book double bedrooms and prefer large, impersonal chain hotels without curious old couple hosts over small, privately owned bed and breakfasts. It might seem a little odd, though who would dare make any bold assumptions? A fine gentleman and his dapper son travelling together, these were not the kinds of people that gave any real reason to worry.

“All of that is fair and well,” the reader might think, “but what does it matter to the case?”

All of it matters. All of what we did, all of what we felt, it all led up to the inevitable outcome of Sebastian Michaelis facing his sentence with his head up high. All of this is to be learned to understand why I do not, and will never regret the crime I am about to face punishment for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you imagine Sebastian's lawyer reading all of this and thinking, "This dude is fucked and there's nothing I can do because he's digging his own grave :) :) :)"


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, many thanks to ChromeHoplite for betaing this chapter!
> 
> [Art which isn't exactly for this chapter in particular but set around this time in the story](http://nighttimeteaparty.tumblr.com/post/170584351229/lolita-au-around-chapter-15-probably-whats)

“I hate these long drives,” Ciel complained.

“I couldn't agree more but it can't be helped, can it? Everything is far apart in this country. All over the place.”

The boy crossed his arms and frowned. He had been continuously growing tired of our long drives and admittedly, so had I. Finally, we had a definite goal ahead of us, though the drives remained too long. It was in late April that the both of us were starting to have enough and my money ran out. Eventually, I did have to access Ciel's inherited savings, though it was only a little.

I could tell from the way Ciel shuffled in his seat and looked at me again and again that he was up to no good. Mischief had been written all over his face and all I could do was wait and see what would happen. Now, while my past version waits for the answer, please wait with him and in the meantime, my current version will take the opportunity to shed some light on our road trip.

It is hard today for me to recollect the exact route we followed. In the beginning, we tangled the roads of New England but as time passed and my boldness grew, we travelled further away. First a little southwards, then to the west and back up north, avoided the Dakotas and crossed the Rockies further south again, only to go back up and follow the west coast all the way down. It was winter by the time we had reached the south and almost spring when we approached the east coast again. The circle almost closed when we finally settled in the college town of Weston, about one year after we had left Ramsdale, though that destination had already been decided on by the end of April.

My preferred form of accommodation were the dime-a-dozen motels with indistinguishable, interchangeable names such as Sunset Court, Family Inn, Sunrise Inn or Country Court. After generously spending good money on our first two stays, the thrill of saving money at the prospect of the initial indefiniteness of the length of our travel weighed stronger than the wish for luxury. Especially after learning that I would not receive the value I expected for the money I paid in this part of the world. I derived a special rush from housings that advertised in large neon letters that _children under 14_ were _free_ , and that rush was not exclusively of a miserly nature.

Ciel did not complain about my cheapskate choices as long as the rooms were clean (which was not always the case) and we had something to see (easier provided than the cleanliness). Overall, the boy was easy to travel with; apart from the occasional sightseeing, our activities did not particularly deviate from our routines back home. Occasionally, we would dine a little more expensively but overall, diners and family restaurants became our food providers of choice. We frequented libraries, indulged in the joys of sleeping in and took opportunities that only cities could offer. I vividly remember a museum visit in the birthplace of Ciel's favourite author: Lovely nymphets, immortalised by the skilled hands of Sargent and Degas, and how they did not compare to the mortal faunlet next to me. In that same city the boy asked for the first time whether a large store with an assorted supply would not carry any of my books, and although it is undoubtedly a writer's greatest joy to have their lover interested in their writing, I had no doubt that any translations would have been _banned in Boston_ , as was common courtesy in this country. On top of that, I advised him to wait for an opportunity to obtain French editions of my work, as I felt my original words held more power to communicate their intentions to him, and any other reader at that. “One day, when I take you away to see Europe,” I would say, “ and show you around Paris, then I will obtain a volume of my strongest work for you.”

“They probably suck and you don't want me to know,” he would claim, or, “I really don't feel like waiting this long. Children are impatient, you know.”

Ciel was not as impatient as he claimed to be. His most childish trait was perhaps his sugar addiction. I cannot count the amount of milk bars, ice cream parlours and candy shops that he made me take him to. It was astounding how much sugar this boy could consume all at once. I soon could hardly even look at ice cream floats anymore and did not want to put up with the brown water that they claim to be coffee, no matter how many free refills I would be offered, so I eventually started to drink a lot of water. In the end, I used to tell myself, it would be worth it to receive due payment in the form of his sugar-sweet kisses.

On long and dull drives, I found myself watching Ciel next to me. Sometimes, he slept peacefully. During daylight hours, he occasionally cranked the window down and let his fingers flutter through the slipstream or moved his hand in aerodynamic waves in our driving direction. On the rare occasions that we travelled at night, the neon lights lining the streets and marking our destinations dyed his resting features in bright greens, blues and pinks. Recurring sights of military cemeteries always kept death close to us and Ciel's consciousness. More than once, the voice of Nat King Cole greeted us from radios in the many lobbies I checked ourselves in, and Ciel eventually started to point these occurrences out by repeating the line, “ _They say he wandered very faaar!_ ” Granted, the song remained on the charts for a very long time that year and therefore accompanied our travels for just as long but after some time, we started to feel a certain mix of annoyance and bonding with the chart-topper.

To complete this little list of recurring particularities, I have to discuss my French accent. God knows how strong the tint of French to the sound of my English is – I, for one, cannot tell and no reliable witness has ever informed me about it. I learned to celebrate my French-ness, however, as I gradually became aware of its assets. I sometimes liked to forget that there were, in fact, not just two people – Ciel and I – in this world. A hand too bold, a grip too firm – it did not line up with American standards of how to touch your child. The Frenchman, however, was notorious for his corporal displays of affection. To kiss a stranger on the cheek was a common custom, so was it not the most usual thing for a Frenchman to let his lips hover a moment too long too close to whatever part of his son's face was, by chance, close enough? Is not the French kiss called such because all Frenchmen shared them like other men shook hands? No, I did not go that far in public; both a vague awareness of public decency and the fear of being associated with the customs of the worst kind of felons the American justice system of the twentieth century knows – communists – prevented me from it. Hovering lips and sneaky hands were the most risqué acts I dared to commit and they were more than enough to draw a little too much attention, though a few meaningless sentences in French and an authentic, albeit exaggerated accent to the English I spoke to curious observers did wonders to distract from my poorly disguised slips of desire.

For all the merry times, there were some unhappy ones too. Sometimes, almost out of the blue, Ciel's mood could break down for the rest of the day. On some occasions, it was an event or a statement that served as reminders of his internal problems; other times, it happened on long drives, when there was nothing for him to do but ponder. I could immediately tell when it happened: His facial features would suddenly turn limp, his eyes dulled and either the healthy colour would entirely disappear from his cheeks, or change form and location into red streaks drawn across his neck by nervous fingernails. On days like those, he would ask for some time to himself, either by sending me away or by sitting down in a hotel lobby with a book as his solitary company, only to return to me with the bookmark still resting between the same pages as before. Alternatively, he would demand my affection, and that I gave him quite willingly, for I still did not know any other means of comforting.

I tried to avoid these days by driving fast from destination to destination, always on the run from the thoughts and truths that tried to hunt him down, though I could not always drive fast enough. Ciel's wounds were still too deep. He was still mourning – his mother as well as himself.

I noticed a gradual shift in Ciel's manner. In the early days of our liaison, my elaborations on the (pre)maturity of his mind were the best stimulant I could offer him and my musings over his unripe body served merely my own joy; by autumn, I was convinced his interest had shifted toward the latter as well. His face turned as pale as clay when I pointed out that we might want to buy new trousers because he had outgrown his old ones by a centimetre or two; even worse was his reaction when in the midst of lovemaking, on a day I paid special attention to his body, I pointed out a single prominent hair sprouting in his armpit (that I, for one, held no ill feelings for): He tensed, suddenly could not bear my touch anymore, disappeared beneath the shower for unusually long and on the next day, the hair was gone.

Yet another clue was a notebook that I found by chance, that I did not know Ciel was keeping. No, that is not quite true – I very clearly remember presenting him with it: A booklet as tall as one-and-a-half of Ciel's hands, bound in brown leather. It was shortly after he had asked me about my motivations to write. I did not address my suspicion because I was certain he would have denied it but his curiosity left me with the impression that he harboured a wish to express his own voice in this manner.

I bought the notebook in a department store while Ciel was sampling the wide variety of stock that the candy department had to offer. When I returned to him, he still had not decided between a box of mint chocolates and a caramel drops one; the boy was so miserable that I just handed him the money for both and all I asked for in return was to have a taste of both candies from his tongue, which he deemed a bit unappetizing at first but then generously fed me more than one of each. I digress –

I gave him the brown notebook on the same day, explaining that it was always good to have something to take notes with at hand. Ciel accepted the book with little words and at first I was not sure whether I had read him the right way; my accidental discovery, however, proved my little present right.

When I scanned through the pages, an avalanche of wild phrases and verses tore me off my feet: words elaborately assembled into sentences, only to be deconstructed again; phrases amass crossed out until illegibility. His words were insecure but there was a sincerity to them that he did not show otherwise – just like I had told him before.

I was conflicted over what I should make of what I _could_ read. On the one hand, I had successfully managed to fuel a new kind of motivation within him; the mere fact that _my_ influence alone could bring him to revisit pen and paper as more than just school supplies. As for what lay on the other hand, I would like to give an account of the following drafts of his that I remember best:

 _In horror,_  
_I watch my reflection age._  
_I am not whiskey, nor wine;_  
_I am milk._  
I decay.  
(This, too, was crossed out, though only with a single line)

 _Do you remember the bright yellow maple leaf that slapped against the windowpane? Surprisingly loud and forceful for a thin and frail and dying thing. You put it into a dictionary to preserve its golden corpse.  
_ (I did remember it)

 _Tempest, temptress, temperature, temporary  
_ (This does nothing to prove my point but showcases another manner in which he took notes in his book)

I found it wiser not to address what I had read in secret. I knew all too well that I was the source of the worries expressed therein, even though I had assured him of the genuineness of my appreciation already. But who am I to blame him – had my words not even convinced myself entirely. I henceforth tried to hold back with my words of cherish that applied specifically to his age, like the width of his shoulders or his soft features, yet he and I both knew that those were the means to use me, and he was afraid I would have no use for him anymore as soon as he were to lose them. The truth was, only time could tell. That, my honoured ladies and gentlemen of the jury, is perhaps my biggest guilt.

On long drives, I began to ponder too. What drew me into Ciel as a person – his individualism and skepticism of societal expectations he had better adhered to – ultimately scourged him. At thirteen years, Ciel dreaded a future he saw no place in for himself. Any other boy that was afraid of dreaming wildly might have resorted to the simplest and most popular of ambitions: To marry and raise children in a house with a brilliantly green front garden. This boy knew too well that that was just an excuse for not having any other ambitions and he was honest enough to himself to know that that was not what he wanted. As for the dreams he was afraid to dream, I think there were plenty. He took too much joy from his activities not to have any. He was a brilliant strategist, as displayed in the many challenging games of chess during which I kept watching him outdo himself. He had opinions on almost everything and a vibrant, though a little too vulgar, vocabulary to express them. He was incredibly smart but did not find any worth in his qualities whatsoever and I think that was the reason he denied himself real dreams of his own. He deemed big dreams unrealistic. Ciel was too serious of a boy for his own good.

Over the course of the following months, I repeatedly told Ciel about my joyful time at the university in England that I attended. An environment to harbour my personal interests, gigantic libraries with endless supplies of books that had accumulated over hundreds and hundreds of years and the freedom to do, in fact, whatever I wanted to do. My intention from back then is perhaps quite obvious now – I could very well see this lost boy find a way on the same path I had gone, and it would have been a beneficial path to me too, for I had good relations to the head of the department of French literature and was positive I could have obtained a teaching position at the same institute I so subtly tried to talk Ciel into attending.

I was not sure if I my subtle attempts at manipulation were fruitful at all but as I did not meet any outright objection with my musings, I just kept at them. If anything, an insecure adolescent needs support and belief in his abilities from a mature role model – and as little as he liked the concept of me incorporating that, no one can deny that with nobody else to turn to, I had become just that. All the smarts and cunning in this world could not make up for a lack of experience that would eventually shape him into the person he would become over time and if it was I who could and would shape him that way, it goes without saying that I would take the opportunity to make the best of it for him as much as myself. I am selfish enough to prefer a happiness for Ciel that includes me over one without me by his side.

The colder months were spent in the southern states and Ciel turned fourteen years old on a rather warm day. We had been on the run from nothing for half a year and apart from my finances gradually declining despite my best efforts at an inexpensive lifestyle that saw me start to ogle to Ciel's emergency funds, I became very aware once again of how long Ciel already had been just mine, and how he would continue to belong to me only. He had turned to embracing our mutual codependence just the way I had. I wanted him, always, and he needed me, for everything.

The south was warm, even in December, but only a little up north the temperatures fell and cheap hotel rooms could be rather chilly in the morning, which meant that Ciel disliked to get up and leave the protection of the warm sheets behind. Hardly better could he bear it when my even warmer body slipped away and out of the room but he was always appeased when I returned to the bedside with a warm beverage and a small snack. He knew quite well that if he so wanted, the warmth of my body would then return again to his side beneath the sheets.

Our stays became longer and we did not bother to see as much outside anymore as we used to in the beginning. In the quiet of our rooms, Ciel would sit in my lap and read to me from a book or the newspaper; I would listen closer to the languid sound of his voice than the words he spoke, and how it roughened when I fondled his naked thighs on mine, and how it broke when I kissed the nape of his neck. We might have gradually grown tired from the road but we certainly did not grow tired of each other. I still recall sights like an amusement park that had seen better times before the war or the gigantic monument of a president long since passed but when I close my eyes, they follow open roads getting lost beneath the horizon, I see the orange-tinted light glow on Ciel's skin in a hotel room in the evening hours, or his impish smile over his shoulder while he ran back to our car after he had just said something cheeky to me during a stop at a gas station. I feel a genuine happiness when I close my eyes and think back to that time.

Despite all the fondness, there came a time when a need to settle emerged in both of us, and it was not just for the money that was unavoidably running out by late spring. Ciel needed a decent education if I wanted my newly developed plans to have any chance of success. I was well aware I could not provide that. However, I did not want to return to Ramsdale with my faunlet swain – and neither did he. Luckily, the many good relations that I kept helped me acquire an employment in a women's academy in the small college town of Weston. Dr. Arshad Satyendra Iyer, a fellow student of Indian descent from my time back in England, had implemented my history of French literature textbook into the list of compulsory reading in the past year and was delighted at the prospect of working with an old friend.

Before we get there, however, I want to draw the reader's attention back to the moment of Ciel's mischief-breeding that I started to describe above. It was because of his reckless and inconsiderate behaviour that our travels would have almost ended prematurely in a tremendous disaster.

That day, we had been on the road for several hours already. I usually avoided drives this long and preferred to spend the night in accommodations along the way but in some situations that strategy would have been more tedious than just driving in one go.

I sighed. “It's not that far anymore; I'm not gonna stop again before we arrive.”

“Yeah yeah...”

Ciel looked at me and bit his lower lip. He rubbed his thighs together, clutched his trouser leg and kept the stare up. _Oh boy. What are you about to do to me now._ I tried to focus my attention on the empty road in front of us. Tried to. Ciel began with the execution of his evil schemings. From the corners of my eyes I could see his hand slide into his crotch. His adept fingers started to move rhythmically to create a bulge in his shorts; all the while he looked at me, watched me try not to care.

“Mnnh...” The pitch of his voice rose, as it always did when he was aroused.

“Now, what sort of behaviour is this?”

“What else am I supposed to do...” He opened his shorts and slid a hand beneath them. I wanted to strangle him. “I can't take the boredom anymore,” he whined.

I swallowed.

“Do you want me to stop? I will stop if you tell me you want me to,” Ciel teased.

He knew perfectly well that I could not phrase that wish because a part of me that the rest of me despised that moment wanted nothing more than for him to continue. Ciel chuckled. He pushed his trousers further down to facilitate touching himself, but more so to expose himself to me.

_The road, Sebastian, the road, look at the road ahead of you. You'll crash your car. Crash? How so? There's nothing you can crash into. Boy, I didn't know your fingers were this proficient._

“You're not looking at the road.”

I was not looking at the road. Darn it.

The little exhibitionist pushed the shorts further down his thighs and, one hand still playing with his erect organ, slid the other down between his buttocks to shamelessly finger himself right next to me. “This feels so good, Sebastian,” he moaned, “Even though I wish it were your fingers inside of me, not mine... ah!”

The boy moved his hips back and forth between his hands; he was hardly sitting in his seat anymore. His moans and groans and yelps became louder and louder and I did my best to ignore them but my own body and my very nature were on the brink of overcoming any reason I had left. When Ciel started to chant my name, one of my hands found its way to his mouth – not to silence him but to push two fingers inside of the next best hot hole of his that I could reach. He sucked them like a good boy. It was then that I understood that I had no other choice but to park the car on the roadside and do as the incubus at my side wanted me to do.

I had only just moved the same two fingers to his lower entrance when Ciel, with a loud “Oh shit!”, pushed me away and frantically pulled his trousers back up. Before I could ask what was the matter, I heard the sound of knuckles knock against the car window on my side. A policeman. Had he seen us? For a moment, I thought it was over. I considered driving him over and away as fast as I could, though I decided against that and for hearing him out.

“Good afternoon, officer, how can I help you?” I smiled my friendliest smile.

“Have you seen a pretty run-down, dark-red Hudson Commodore pass you? There's been a bank robbery in a town close by and the culprit was seen escaping in a car like that.”

“I'm afraid we haven't,” I looked at Ciel, mainly to allow myself the facial expression of relief into his direction, “Have we?”

Ciel was panting and he hardly managed to phrase a “No...”

The policeman seemed disappointed. “I see... if you do, please contact local authorities immediately!” He examined Ciel and drew his eyebrows together. The boy was crouching in his seat, laboured breath, visibly opened fly and he looked like he had seen a ghost. “Are you alright, young man?”

“Yes! I mean, no, I have a terrible stomachache and I really need to go to the toilet.”

“You're lucky! Turn left two miles down the road and you'll soon find the next gas station.

“Thank you, officer!” Ciel beamed in a sickeningly sweet, yet somehow pained manner.

The policeman drove on and Ciel and I synchronously sighed in relief.

I turned to him. “See what you did? This could've been the end of it. Me in jail, you in a foster family... is that what you want?”

“How could _I_ know? There wasn't _anyone_ on the road for like an hour! Oh god... He... he would've seen you with your fingers up inside of me had I not seen him approach in time. Fuck.”

“ _Fuck_ indeed,” I imitated him.

For a while, we just looked at each other, both of us panting. After the first shock had ebbed away, it slowly became clear what both of us needed. The thrill drove us further when every normal man in his right mind would have lost any drive he previously had. Clearly, neither of us was normal, and perhaps not in our right minds either.

It was Ciel that dared to phrase it first. “I want you inside of me immediately.”

I complied.

While the boy rocked in my lap, I may or may not have seen the dark-red Hudson Commodore pass our car, though I could not be sure; I was very busy pounding relentlessly into the wanton little demon. No policeman heard of me that day.

Curiously enough, for the rest of the drive, a car followed us close behind and I was glad it did as it made sure that Ciel would not try anything inappropriate again, although I doubted he was in a condition where he wanted or could do that.

So much for our route up until May. There is much that I would like to elaborate on but for the sake of keeping this confession as concise as possible, I shall not go into further detail until that point in time. The month of May, however, will require special attention as there were several crucial moments that profoundly influenced the further turn of events.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arshad Satyendra Iyer is Agni's real name - just a pointer. ;)


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everybody, sorry for leaving you hanging for so long! I struggled with this chapter, then manga chapter 135 happened and I couldn't bring myself to write anything that's even vaguely bad for Ciel, and after that, I felt uninspired for quite a while.
> 
> As always, thank you very much ChromeHoplite for your beta reading!
> 
>  
> 
> [Art for chapter 17](http://nighttimeteaparty.tumblr.com/post/169963896249/ciel-a-reimagination-of-vladimir-nabokovs)

In May 1949, we had to live off Ciel's inheritance. The accessible money was little but it did not matter since we had not lived large until then anyway and it meant no changes to our lifestyle. I did not let this dependence rush our way back to New England, however; it would not have helped as the house that we would rent, which Dr. Iyer had found for me, was not accessible until June.

The tenth of May would mark the anniversary of Rachel's death and it did not go unnoticed. Up until a week before that date, I had had the impression that Ciel's mourning period was coming to a close but on the days leading up to it, I could see the boy regress into a picture of misery. I tried to directly address his condition but any attempt to console him was turned down. I knew he harboured something and I knew it had to do with me; too evasive was he of me to leave any doubt about that, even though he was bound to spend most of his time in my close proximity.

In the meantime, I started to feel like we were being followed. Maybe it was Ciel's tension that had a discomposing effect on me too, but I was seriously starting to consider that the many different cars that followed us for long distances, and sometimes even to our destinations, all shared a single driver. At the same time, I was aware that I had to take care not to think too much of it, and I became aware that I really did need to settle down soon and set my mind at rest, or else paranoia might really overcome me. I tried to ignore the cars behind us that anyone else would have paid no attention to in the first place and focussed more on Ciel's case, and that I did not know how to proceed with him.

One of these nights, surrounded by the massive walls of an unidentifiable European classicist building, I had only just assured a Ciel with silky long hair, now that he was a girl at the age he had reached, we should catch the next train to Germany and not return for a couple of years, because within the limitations of heterosexuality, the German law allowed little nymphets and faunlets of fourteen to follow their nature, and their fanciers to succumb to their charm. I heard a whimper behind me and when I turned around and woke up, I saw Ciel asleep next to me on the hotel bed, whimpering, short-haired and doubtlessly a boy.

The pale neon light from outside allowed me to see the dampness of his lashes. In a microscopical moment of frenzy, I pulled Ciel to my chest and in so doing, awoke him too. I expected him to push me away, like he had been pushing me away most of the time recently, but instead, he buried his face in my chest and held onto me tightly. I petted the back of his head and continued to do so for a while, and when I thought he had fallen asleep again, the boy whispered hardly audible, “You do this too little.”

What did I do too little? Wake him up from nightmares? Or was he asleep again after all and talking in his dreams? Thinking of a solution to this puzzle made me incredibly tired and I soon fell asleep again as well. I think I know now what he meant and I do not think he was asleep when he phrased those words, but I will not spell it out as I trust that the reader is less dense than I am when it comes to correct and appropriate ways of comforting a ward.

Despite that night, his avoidance of me reached its peak on the anniversary day. When I woke up that morning, instead of Ciel, I merely found a folded sheet of paper next to me in bed, of thick quality and torn at the edges – definitely a fragment of his notebook. My heart skipped a beat – could it be? Was it a farewell letter? A quick look around the room confirmed that his things were still there; merely his shoes were missing. Silly Sebastian, how could I ever think he would run away from me? But wait, what if he did run away, though not to a physical destination but the afterlife? Could it be? Had he been this miserable? I snatched the letter from the potential runaway's pillow; there was no point in wild speculations when I had a source of information right at my hands.

The letter went like this:

 

 _Sebastian,_ (no “dear”)

 _I don't know what to say. I don't believe you. What happened on the day mother died? I accepted your claim that you don't know anything way too easily. You just_ _have_ _to know more than you admit to. You were at home. My mother must've been distressed or she wouldn't have just run in front of a car out of inattentiveness. What did you do to her?_

_Be honest with me. I know it's cowardly to confront you with a letter but I can't help it; I can't look you in the eyes right now, ask these questions and face your response. Please reply in written form. I'm outside when you read this, catching some fresh air. Don't look for me, I'll be back at eleven o'clock. Leave the room before eleven and put your reply into the drawer of my bedside table. I don't want to see you when I return; I want to read your statement by myself._

_I won't let you get away with your feigned ignorance this time. It's wiser to tell me what you know, and don't you dare try to make anything up._

_Ciel_

 

My first thought was, _he's just like his mother_. The matter treated in the letter was a completely different one but it reminded me all too much of Rachel's odd wedding proposal. I wondered if Rachel had taught her son to hide behind a sheet of paper or if this tactic had been genetically inherited together with her eyes and frail form. Then a sense of bewilderment set in. What was I supposed to say? Did he really want to hear the truth? Could I lie to him? No, I knew perfectly well that I could bend the truth but I could not lie to Ciel. And when he explicitly asked me to tell him everything, I would not get away with any less.

I certainly would not do Ciel the favour of replying in letter form. I found it unnecessarily difficult to properly communicate when we could talk normally in this hotel room of ours. I made up my mind to stay in the room and wait for his return, and I would not leave the room until then, in case he were to return earlier than expected. However, the arms of the run-down wall clock opposite of the bed turned exceptionally slowly that morning. Luckily, the sweet tooth had left behind a bag of cookies with which I could substitute my breakfast. They did not keep me busy for too long, though, and I did not find any good distractions within the limitations of the room. I realised I could make use of the time by carefully planning what to say to Ciel but I soon realised I was not the type of person to plan out conversations beforehand. Instead, I just sank back onto the bed and stared holes into the ceiling for most of the rest of the wait. I told myself it was the boredom that tortured me but this is a confession and I have to be honest with you, so I will admit that I was ever so scared.

Just before eleven o'clock, I heard the door open. False alarm – it was the housemaid, who had failed to announce herself. I chased the woman away and told her not to return before the next day, though just when I proceeded to stare at the great whiteness of the ceiling, the door creaked again.

Ciel gasped. “I told you to stay away. I can't look at you right now.”

“If you want to look away, that's fine by me but I will not try to solve this with a letter. This is a matter that needs proper discussion and you know that.”

Ciel considered my words and soon he gave in. With an air of wariness, he moved to the armchair in the corner of the room and sat down. The boy crossed his arms and legs to imitate a look of strict dominance but his visible lack of comfort gave him away. “I'm willing to listen to you but don't pull any-”

“I didn't kill your mother, if that's what you want to know. I really didn't. You saw it, I couldn't have done it.”

He looked to the ground.

“I didn't wish for her to die, either. I've told you before and it wasn't a lie.”

“You can't tell me that's it. There's more to it than that, I know there is!”

I swallowed. There was no way Ciel would take what I was about to explain well. I had always known that it would end in disaster if he ever were to learn about the circumstances. Yet there was no way around it; I had to tell him the entire truth.

After a deep breath, I asked, “You remember what I told you about my habit of keeping a journal when it's convenient, don't you?”

Ciel looked up from the floor. “Yes...”

“It lies in the nature of diaries to contain information that the author wouldn't share with anyone else. So did my journal that I kept when I moved in with you and your mother. It contained a lot of honesty...”

A skeptical swallow.

“...It contained a lot of honesty on you and me and the reasons for agreeing to the marriage.”

“Wait... no...”

“Your mother found it and stuck her nose into it. I had only just returned home when she confronted me about it in the kitchen. I tried to calm her down, looked for excuses but in vain. She knew the content well enough – my colourful descriptions of you, of us – to leave any chance of reconciliation for me.”

Ciel turned as pale as a ghost.

“I didn't do anything to her. At first, your mother moved to the telephone but then decided against using it. Instead, she ran outside. I remained in the kitchen, awaiting my certain arrest. I had given up, Ciel. In a matter of seconds, I had accepted the invoice for the payments I had due. I was just sitting there, waiting for the police to come and arrest me, when the telephone rang. I had no idea. I hurried outside and there she was... and there you were.”

Ciel's jaw trembled. He looked down at the tight fists that lay on his now uncrossed legs. He needed both feet on the floor to ground himself. “You dumb fuck. How stupid can a grown man be,” He shot up and pierced me with his eyes. “How stupid can a grown man be!”

I did not say a thing. I cannot claim that he was wrong with his accusations.

“It's _your_ fault after all! Why did you even have to write any of that down in the first place? I can't believe it! It's all your fault. Yours entirely. Everything that happened is your fault.” Ciel’s voice cracked. “The day you came into my life, you destroyed it. You took away everything I had, in exchange for your ever-dominating presence. But do you know what's the worst about all of this?” Ciel sat down again. He laid his elbow onto the arm rest and leaned his forehead against his hand for support.

I just stared at him, waiting for him to continue.

“The worst of all is that I... that I can't even hate you for that. I've had this feeling in my guts that something like what you just told me happened.” A hysterical laugh escaped Ciel's mouth. “The worst of all is that I can't even hate you for stripping my life from everything that isn't ' _you_ ' because I don't think I even had a life to begin with. I believe from the bottom of my heart that I was never meant to live this long.”

Here I was, not justifying myself or my actions, and I realised I had not been able to plan the course of this conversation beforehand because this was the only course it could possibly take, and it was not one I liked it to take. I wondered how broken Ciel had been before me, and how much of him I had broken.

“We both killed her,” All the colour disappeared from his face and he trembled while he spoke, “you with your deviant character and I with my selfishness.”

I remained silent. If that was what he thought, I did not want to interfere with his beliefs. If he partly blamed himself, my chances of getting away with my misconduct were better. In my eyes, Rachel was more to blame than Ciel, since it was her inappropriate snooping in my personal belongings that ultimately resulted in her end.

“Get out. I need to think this through.”

I did not move.

“I said get out! I won't just disappear, if that's what you're thinking.”

I went outside without a single word. A flurry pushed me through the streets of the town we were staying in. Once again, I did not know what to do with my time. I decided that an hour would be enough time for him and meanwhile, I went to distract myself by raising false hopes in the woman working at the milk bar that had served me and Ciel with starry eyes the day before. When there is nothing else to do, catering to my vanity is always a go-to option.

I returned to our room, armed with bribes in the form of lemon drops and a chocolate bar that I had bought on my way back. Behind the door, I found Ciel lying on the bed, his back to me.

“Are you awake?”

“No.”

I hesitated but then sat down behind him on the bed.

“Don't touch me,” he said.

“I didn't plan to.”

“I think I do hate you after all.”

“That's fair.”

“...take me seriously.”

“I do.”

“I need you more than I care to admit.”

I reached out for his shoulder.

“I said don't touch me.”

I did not draw my hand back and Ciel did nothing to free himself of it. “Do you want me to apologize?”

“If you have to ask that first, I'd rather you not to. If you don't understand this much, I can't imagine you know what to apologize for in the first place.”

“...”

“You're absolutely horrible at this being-human-thing sometimes. To the point where I sometimes doubt you're even human. Maybe this is why you ended up being this depraved in the first place, because you're not human.”

“I’d like to believe I am a descendant of Bacchus.”

“Wine is not your problem, though.”

“No, I mean... never mind.” I found it wiser not to tell stories of the ecstatic god with his wonderful nymphs and fauns.

Ciel turned around to look at me. He examined me with a strict look in his eyes. “You might be depraved by yourself but the greatest depravity is you and me together.”

“I disagree with you on one thing.”

“Which is?”

“I believe that depravity is an essentially human quality. All depravity in this world, and stories thereof, are born in the minds of humans. Depravity is very human, though perhaps not all that humane.”

“When you talk like this, I can hear how full of yourself you are.”

“You started this topic and I just added my perspective on it-”

“Shut up. Sebastian, I...” He sat up. We were close to each other, so close... Ciel shook his head. “I have very conflicted feelings concerning you. You don't deserve to have me but I don't deserve anyone other than you. We were never meant to be together but I don't think we could've ever been without the other either.”

“I disagree with you again, I am very sure we were meant to be together from the moment my father and mother became one to create me.”

“It's absurd to imagine that somebody like you once had parents, or just a single parent, that loved you dearly and wondered what would become of you one day. Maybe some parents are better off dead.”

“Now you're being unnecessarily mean.”

“Cry me a river. I don't think that me being mean is the worst that will happen to you because of me. I made up my mind, I will stay with you. If I leave all irrational emotion aside, your revelation doesn't change much between us. I've always suspected something vaguely like this, after all. It would be hypocritical of me to start bearing a grudge on you now. But I have this feeling that if we stay together, we are bound to damage and eventually destroy each other. Like I said, we can't be without each other but I don't think we can be with each other either.”

“So be it. I prefer a world where you and I are each other's gradual demise over one where our demise is rooted in being apart. Though I would like to believe that we don't necessarily have to tear each other apart.”

“Think what you want...”

“I will.”

He sighed. “Your hand is on my thigh.”

“Will you look at that, it is! I didn't notice.”

“I'm calling the police. Reason for arrest: being an unbearable idiot.”

“I won't let it come to that. I'll muzzle you before you have the chance.”

“I know exactly where this goes and I’m not up for that right now.”

I drew my hand back. Ciel nodded. We went to have lunch and after that, I gave him the candy that I had not needed. It would have been a very poor bribe.

In hindsight, I think that this confrontation was a necessary evil as it finally brought conclusion to Rachel's demise for Ciel. I consider myself lucky that he reacted in a way that was beneficial to me, though I am unable at this point to imagine a course of action against me. He saw no place anywhere but by my side for himself, after all.

With Ciel's restlessness, my paranoia disappeared too. The remaining time until our arrival in Weston flew by. I looked forward to settling down with the beautiful boy that said he would destroy me one day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: German laws DO NOT condone the sexual abuse of minors. Age of consent laws are more complicated than that. I'm neither German, nor a legal professional, so I don't want to explain any more but you can look it up on wikipedia if you want to know more.
> 
> This story is nearing its end. I can't say exactly how many chapters are still to come but it will just be a few. Thank you to everyone who's been following it so far and I hope you'll follow it until the very end.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, look! I updated less than a month after the past chapter. Neat.
> 
> As always, many thanks to ChromeHoplite for beta reading!
> 
> [Art for chapter 18](http://nighttimeteaparty.tumblr.com/post/170777976854/a-vintage-travel-poster-inspired-painting-because)

If asked whether, given the chance, I would alter the course of events, then my answer would be _yes_.

I am completely honest with you, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, when I state that I would have preferred a turn of fate where Ciel had not been robbed of his mother too early, and where our mutual affection was not interspersed with anguish. A turn of fate where, instead of being occupied with keeping him on his feet, I could instead have invested all my energy into helping the boy thrive, and in return I would receive his soul and body, our relationship untinged by the guilt of my words slaughtering Rachel.

I would burn the journal if I could turn back time. Set its treacherous pages on fire one by one until I could be sure that nothing was left of it. Of course all was my fault, of course it was. The diligent reader of this confession by now has grown very familiar to my vanity and it is this vanity that makes it hard for me to face the truth behind my greatest mistakes - the truth that I, and I alone, am to blame for them. I try to find faults in others, and on some days I can convince myself of them, but this morning, just before I returned to the stacks of paper on my little desk, when I looked at my reflection in the dirty mirror of this prison cell, all of my faults stared back at me and I knew today is one of these honest days when my regrets come to haunt me.

The ladies and gentlemen of the jury might be curious about my other regrets. _What else would Michaelis do differently if he had the chance?_ _Would he have told Ciel the truth about his mother unasked?_ No, I would not have done that. I have invested much thought into other possibilities of revealing the truth but in the end it always came down to this: Ciel had to be ready to discover it by himself. Had I revealed the truth just after he had seen her grotesque corpse on the concrete, not only do I think he would have disposed of me forever, but he would have still blamed himself, maybe more so even than a year later, and with not even me by his side to reassure him of his reason for existing, I dare not think of what else might have happened.

As Ciel said, he had long harboured the suspicion that something I did, something that had to do with him, had led to her death. For one reason or another, a year needed to pass until he finally confronted the truth. I think he had not been ready before, and I think he knew that too, and that is why he ultimately decided not to punish me by going away.

There is but one great regret I have concerning the time of our road trip. In hindsight, I wish I would have embraced Ciel more often. As I have previously alluded to, I never really understood when a hurt human needed to be held by another, not in a carnal or sensual sense but just to feel another's presence. I, for one, cannot remember ever having felt this need.

The most tragicomical aspect of this lack of understanding is that whenever I tried to offer consolation in the form of intercourse, an embrace would have been a quicker and more effective method. I realise this now but did not understand it in time. I could have conditioned myself to just wrap my arms around the boy whenever he hurt, but instead I conditioned him as much as myself into feeling an odd arousal whenever his mood turned for the worse.

If there was one thing I took away from the day Ciel confronted me, it was that I was incapable of healing him. I undertook the travel across the country because I thought it to be the best way to distract him from the problems back at home but running away proved to be no long-term solution. I never had the occasion to learn how to comfort or be comforted in times of great hurt, and while I do think my single, admittedly not entirely selfless strategy was a short-term fix, I do not think it helped to improve his condition in the long term. Even though I still did not know what to do instead, I at least recognised the need to change my approach.

Moving to Weston meant an occasion for change. This is where Dr. Iyer comes into play.

Dr. Iyer had recently changed his first name to Agni for personal reasons and asked me to drop the honorifics and talk to each other like in our student days. Therefore I will henceforth address him as such in this text as well.

Agni was a tall, dark-skinned man, though surprisingly with hair as white as snow. I met him early in my time at university and although he became a part of my life by forcing himself into it, we soon formed a friendly relationship built on mutual respect. Agni and I were very different but found that we could draw from what set us apart. I would go so far as to say that he was the only person I ever considered a close friend. As such, I found it self-evident that if I wanted to consult anybody concerning my empathy deficiencies, it had to be him.

The day we moved into our new home, Agni came to lend a hand and brought a young companion with him. For almost three years, Soma Asman Kadar, a distant relative of his from India, had been living with him to attend school in the USA. He was a young man of about seventeen years, rather handsome, although with an abundance of energy and terribly loud. It struck me as a surprise when Ciel agreed to be taken around town by him, though my boy returned in the late afternoon with eye bags painted by exhaustion. Ciel explained that he had made the resolution to be friendlier towards schoolmates and age peers, and he took the opportunity to start with Soma, but the good intentions took their toll on him and he was starting to regret his efforts already.

Before Ciel's return, however, I took the chance to talk to Agni in private over a cup of tea. My aim was to receive maximum advice while revealing as little about us as possible. Luckily, he was a tactful man and knew not to ask too much when I did not want to go into further detail. A rough picture of Ciel's grief over his mother, and that he thought he was partly to blame for her death because he had done something that upset her shortly before her death set the little cog wheels in Agni's mind in motion.

“So, how have you been trying to take care of him so far?”

“First and foremost, I took him away from the toxic town that made everything worse than it already was. On our trip, it was my priority to provide Ciel with entertainment, so he would have as little time to think of his mother as possible. Other than that... not much. I let him eat a lot of sweets.” Of course, I could not tell him the _entire_ truth.

“That sounds very much like you,” Agni chuckled, “but at least that's not nothing. And yet he hasn't recovered from the trauma at all?”

“Well, no, yes; until May I thought he was on the right path but then we had an argument, and I realised he could've been further in his grief work than he was.” I rubbed the rim of the saucer to my hands with both thumbs.

“Did you ask him about his feelings?”

“No, he told me by himself.”

“Do you talk about his feelings often?”

“No, he's not the kind of boy that likes to talk about such things. He rather keeps to himself. I respect that.”

“Oh, Sebastian...” Agni softly shook his head. “Every adolescent wants to talk about his feelings but some need to be asked for them, or they will try to fight their demons alone.”

I raised a single eyebrow. I did not know my face could do that. “Are you sure about that? I have the feeling that he will see it as an intrusion of his privacy if I ask.”

“Does the boy like you?”

“Well... yes...” _like_ was a strange term to describe us. Too weak and sort of missing the point.

“Are you unsure he does?”

“No, no, he does. But you see, I became his stepfather by chance and I don't see myself fit for the role of a father figure. I think you know by now that I don't have what it takes.”

“Do _you_ like the boy?”

“You have no idea how much,” There it broke out of me for a second, but it was alright, it was alright.

Agni smiled, “Then you do have what it takes. I think that's what's most important. We can work on the rest. You may not be the most empathetic person but as long as you're serious, you can learn to be better.”

I leaned back and reflected on his words for a moment. I did give Ciel the little notebook to write his feelings down, but was Agni right by saying that I should have instead just asked him to share his worries with me? Now that he had told me, it did make sense. Of course, Ciel was too proud to actively come ask for help. I should have known.

I proceeded, “There is one thing in particular that Ciel said that I didn't understand, and that I need your opinion on.”

Eyes wide open and waiting for me to proceed, Agni prepared to impart more of his wisdom to me.

“Some weeks ago, I woke up from Ciel weeping in his sleep. I went over to his bed and woke him up by hugging him. After a while, he told me that I _do this too little_. While putting it into words for you, I feel the answer to this puzzle is rather self-evident and I'm a fool.”

“If it's true and you don't hug him much, then that's your answer,” he suggested.

“It's just... I had the impression that I gave him other, better attention instead of embraces,” With this statement, I was getting awfully close to the limits of how honest I could be with him but I had to go that far, “I have difficulties telling when someone is in need of a hug.”

“What did _you_ feel when you hugged him that night?”

“Something along the lines of _he's hurting, he needs to stop hurting_.”

“There we have it, that's the magic spell that you need to use on yourself. Hug him when he hurts.”

I thought about it long and hard. To me, an embrace was the little brother of a kiss or sexual intercourse, and my arms around Ciel were means of holding him close to me so I could feel the beloved boy's body fitting itself to my form. Though, if that was true, then why did I not feel any such romantic desires when I held him to me that night? All I could think of then was to hold him together so he would not fall apart.

I do not know how long I sat there, just staring into my warped reflection on the surface of my tea. Eventually, Agni interrupted my thoughts to satiate at least some of his curiosity.

“To be honest, I was surprised to hear you had married.”

“Hmm? Yes...”

“What was she like?”

“Very pretty; big, blue eyes... that she passed down to Ciel. She was generally gentle but enjoyed a bit of fun at the harmless expense of others sometimes. Oh, and she managed to make me enjoy this seven-layered salad that I was very skeptical of when I first came to America.”

“Did you love her?”

This took me aback. “I married her; why would you doubt I loved her?”

“Because throughout the entire story that you just told me, not a single time did I get the impression that you had to struggle with your own feelings of grief.”

His observation startled me a bit. It had been careless of me to forget about my lonely widower role but I did not think it was relevant to the story of Ciel's feelings. It was time to come up with a convincing impromptu story. “You're right with that. I didn't marry Rachel out of love; I married her out of a desire for a family, I think. I did like her, yes, but most of all, I saw in her and Ciel two people that I could find purpose in, and I could be an anchor for them. I thought that maybe I could grow to love her over the years but I never had the chance to come that far.”

“To think that you, Sebastian ' _I am an island_ ' Michaelis, would one day wish for a family, what a surprise!” Agni laughed, “And in your stead here I am, the eternal bachelor. I don't think anyone back at university would've seen this coming.”

I chuckled, “Certainly not.”

“I think Ciel is lucky to have you by his side. You didn't have the chance to learn how to be a father as other men have, and all of a sudden, you are alone with a grieving teen-ager; a difficult situation for anybody, even organically-grown fathers. But you mean well. It will be alright.”

I did mean well.

Didn’t I?

I took to heart everything Agni had said. _Hug him more, ask for his feelings, don't try to fix problems with sex_ (the last one was my own piece of advice for myself, obviously). I wanted to start acting on these resolutions immediately but I could not do all at once out of the blue. It would have struck Ciel as odd and surely that would not have been helpful. One step after another.

As I said, I would not try to change everything at once, though maybe I could start to take more than one step at a time. Ciel and I had a routine of physical closeness that I thought I could try to morph into something else this evening.

It was a cool and rainy day and Ciel had not dressed adequately for his explorations with Soma. By nightfall, his fingers were ice-cold, so I made him a cup of hot chocolate to warm him up from inside. Cup in hands, he waited for me to sit down next to him on the sofa, and so I did, and I laid my arm around the boy and pulled him close, careful not to spill any of the hot drink.

I was dead set on a goal, which was to talk and hug; no sex, not even allusions to sex.

Ciel leaned his head against my cheek; I did have to fight against the sensation of his soft hair on my skin and his scent to lure me into endeavours that deviated from my plan. My foolproof strategy, however, was to visualise Ciel in my arms that one night. The vision kept my mind and body strong against all temptations.

The rich voice of the host of a radio show that I did not really listen to and Ciel's occasional sips were the only sounds that filled the room. I was not sure if the boy paid any attention to the broadcast but I reckoned that he seemed to feel rather comfortable at that moment. A necessary prerequisite for my plans. Now it would depend on my words, and my words alone, if its execution went well.

“You'll turn fifteen in a few months,” I half-whispered.

Ciel tensed.

“You've grown quite a bit too, though you're still short for your age.”

He put his half-empty hot chocolate away and looked at me in horror. I needed to slow down.

“I think there's something you don't understand.”

Now he looked even more scared.

I was not doing well, I needed to intervene with myself. I took his hands, only his hands, to turn him completely towards me, then let go of him again. I needed to address the fears expressed in his poem without revealing that I had read it. A metaphor, a metaphor! My kingdom for a good metaphor! No milk. “Ciel, I find... you're akin to an apple blossom.”

The boy thought about it for a bit, then suggested, “The prettiest just before it blooms, only to wither away soon after...”

I shook my head in heavy disagreement. “Without a doubt, its rosy petals just before the buds open bear a very unique beauty; different than blossoms of other trees in that they become shy in their bloom and hide behind the green leaves of the tree that mothers them as they lose their petals. However, you must not forget that a blossom is but the precursor of the real thing. It might lose its delicate infantile beauty but its core will transform into a delicious, nurturing and tempting fruit. When the apple is ripe, nobody will lament its evolution. One might fondly remember the bright pink blush along its petals but the matured apple is what the whole tree was planted for in the first place. Do you understand?”

Ciel stared at me and took a moment to process my metaphor. He gradually turned red, like the apple I had just imagined, and cupped his glowing cheeks with his palms. “Where the hell does this come from?”

“I owe you reassurance. I owe you the clear message that I want to listen to you when you hurt and most of all, I owe you the help to leave the misconception behind that you will lose your worth as you age.”

“You noticed, huh?” His hands dropped onto his lap.

“Of course I did. You don't hide this particular worry of yours very well.”

Ciel averted his look. He obviously struggled with his belief in me. “You ramble about apples and blossoms and that's very much like you. But how can I be sure that you mean what you say?”

“You can never be sure because we can never be sure that something another says is true, whether they lie or just don't know any better. You can, however, decide to trust in what I say.”

“I have told you many times that I don't want to trust you.”

“I know, and yet I sit here in front of you and ask you for it. All I can do is ask of you to trust my words when I tell you that being with you has changed my perspective. I have made many mistakes while being with you. I have hurt you, harmed you, and I regret all of that but I don't regret letting you in on my fondness of you because it hasn't changed since we met – no, that's nonsense, it has changed a lot and that is why I don't regret it. I know there are words you don't want to hear because you don't believe in them but please trust me when I say that my fondness of you has only ever grown.”

Ciel looked at me again. He visibly contemplated on how he should respond to my plea. He took a sip from his chocolate that must have lost its _hot_ -prefix by then, put it back onto the table and focussed on me again to form a reply.

“When I ask you to be honest with me, you usually are. At least, I can't think of a time when I noticed you trying to fool me. I want to believe that what you say is true.”

“I can't blatantly lie to you. I'm just not physically capable of it.”

“I think it's for the better if I believe you even if you don't say the truth. I can't go anywhere else anyway.”

This was a premise I no longer wanted our cohabitation to be based upon. “If you are desperate to get away from me, I think the Midfords would welcome you to their home at any time. They have always worried greatly about you and if you give them reason to believe that I kidnapped you, I'm sure they'd take you in, no questions asked. No need to go into any further detail on the specifics between you and me.”

“What would become of you?”

I shrugged, “Don't ask. It's not something you would be obligated to think about.” Of course, that would be my end. I had told Ciel before and I think he knew but I did not want to emphasise it, or else I would have fallen back into my old manipulative patterns.

He softly shook his head. “You just robbed me of my only excuse for staying with you.”

“Does that mean you’ll have to go?”

“No, you idiot, it means that I have to admit that I just don’t _want_ to go.”

What a relief. “I'm glad you don't.”

Ciel smiled. He slumped down and leaned his upper body ever so slightly forward, not with any intention in particular but likely as a reflection of his brand new acceptance of me and, I hoped, himself too. Throughout our conversation, I had been paying attention to his body language, looking for an occasion that I deemed fitting for an embrace. I had grown nervous, thinking that I must have missed the opportunity, but now it had come, I was almost sure it was the right time to wrap my arms around him, and so I did. Ciel gasped in surprise, though then leaned into my hold around him and there we sat, for a minute or two, until the radio show host's enthusiastic insinuations on the booming economy and the positive outlook on the fifties pulled us out of our little calm world.

I started to develop an understanding of how to be better; at the same time, I realised how truly monstrous of a man I had been. However, monsters, too, can love, and this was the central problem. They cannot love without damage. I have damaged Ciel, and I regret I did, though I simply could not do any better. This monster with claws covered in venom could not help but reach out for a boy who would suffer from the stings of its talons. But, knowing this, the boy did not flinch away from those talons either. Instead he offered up his bare flesh and invited the poison in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After this fanfic is done, I'll light a candle and say sorry to Sebastian for making him say so much cheesy stuff all the time.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early update again! I'm SUPER motivated at the moment and I'm writing whenever I have time. However, even though I said that the story would be over soon, I've come to the realisation that I'll need a few more chapters than I initially thought to wrap everything up or else it will feel rushed. That's why I'm now a few chapters ahead already but I work on multiple chapters at the same time so everything fits together. I hope I can keep the slightly more frequent updates up.
> 
> [Art for chapter 19](http://nighttimeteaparty.tumblr.com/post/171521519109/i-admit-this-is-a-lazy-picture-but-i-needed)

I had plenty to prepare before I would formally pick up my new employment in September; make myself familiar with the campus, for example – a task that Agni was so friendly to assist me with. Our little tour ended in the main library, where a question formed in my head – Agni understood it before I could phrase it – _May I bring Ciel here?_ Yes, yes, I could. In fact, he reassured me, the little girl of a colleague of ours also frequented the library quite often.

Agni left me behind so I could pursue some private research. The occasion offered to read up on questions of mine, so I sat down, packed with psychological literature, with the aim of putting together a better understanding of Ciel's condition. I was relieved to learn that a normal period of grief could well last up to two years, which meant that the boy's state was not necessarily indicative of a greater problem. The same source talked about the phases of grief, and how to overcome them. Some of them I could already recognise in Ciel, for I was certain he had accepted reality for what it was, and he had somewhat adjusted to a world and a daily routine without the deceased. Other challenges had yet to be faced. To my understanding, the aim was to establish Rachel as a happy memory – a defining factor of his past, present and future, whose influence would remain a part of him, but that he could reflect on in a positive way – to let the boy find a connection to his mother in a life without her.

I eagerly noted my discoveries down, then spelled out the next great thinking mistake that I had made – to draw a veil of silence around the topic of Rachel, for I had believed that the evocation of her memory would do more harm than good. The more I learned, the louder a socratic voice in my head assured me of my complete ignorance. I promised to do better now. Not to Ciel, nor Agni, nor Rachel; I promised it to myself. Immediately when I arrived home, I wrote a letter to Mr. Midford to inform him of our new address and requested of him to fetch a certain something from the Phantomhive house and send it to me.

The ladies and gentlemen of the jury might want to ask if, under this premise, I finally stopped touching the boy inappropriately, and I would reply with an offended _no!_ I could become a better attachment figure while still maintaining the sexual part of our relationship. Why, anybody please explain to me, why should it be better for Ciel (who also enjoyed this part of our relationship – who even sought it out as much as I did) to end it? What harm could sexual intercourse ever do to him if he consented to it? What was the difference to any other harmless stimulant, like an afternoon nap, or a chocolate bar? Come to think of it, the sweets perhaps posed a greater threat, for they could have ruined his teeth. What harm could the unification of our bodies do? It was not the core of the disaster that would commence. Yes, it did relate to the turn of events, but not because of any harm I did, but outward circumstances; a man, a madman, a fiend.

Settling in the new town and at my new workplace, as well as the constant pondering kept me busy for a good week or two. We did not have many personal belongings with us, so they were quickly spread all over the house. It felt grounding to have a study of my own again, and this one was larger than the one in the Phantomhive house; similarly, Ciel, of course, had a room of his own, and though it was primarily a façade since we slept together in the master bedroom, to have a retreat of his own seemed fair.

Ciel surprisingly spent much time with Soma. The latter made it a habit to drop by unannounced, and while we did not _always_ open the door – it is common etiquette to announce oneself beforehand for a good reason – the Indian boy's success rate at trying to lure Ciel out of the house was astounding. Soma knew how to do it: The drug store nearby or a milk bar a little further away were attractive destinations to Ciel. Upon learning of our temporarily tight budget, Soma even insisted on paying for Ciel's saccharine expenses most of the time, which fostered my support of their regular outings. My boy would usually return by late afternoon or early evening, assert that he was doing this for the mere purpose of building connections that he could later benefit from, and I could tell that he lied but if he needed this lie to feel at ease with having a friend, I would not question it.

Ciel perhaps thought that I disapproved of the concept of friendship since I had never once left the impression that I valued it in any way and always listened to his complaints about his former classmates with much understanding. But while I did not particularly treasure jovial connections personally, I in no way would have looked down on him for engaging in them. Well, perhaps I would have done so just a little bit earlier but I had learned since then. I was a wiser fool now. My books suggested that the forging of friendships and their upkeep were a good sign of recovery.

Not much time had passed since Soma had stormed into Ciel's life when another adolescent was introduced. I vividly remember the bewilderment in Ciel's face when he came home to me one evening and greeted me with the words, “I think Soma tried to set me up with a girl.”

Sullivan was her name – Sieglinde Sullivan. An orphan, like Ciel, the German girl had come to America as a war refugee with the help of Wolfram Gelzer, a family confidant, who turned out to be a future colleague of mine, though at a different institute. The attentive reader might have already guessed that Sieglinde was the girl frequenting the library that Agni had told me about. On the basis of knowing that both the Sullivan girl and Ciel were somewhat bookish, Soma thought it was the most brilliant idea he ever had to suggest the two to get together, completely ignoring the critical difference between Ciel's preferred literature and hers: That girl devoured scientific tomes like others devoured a hearty breakfast. However, although their interests did not line up perfectly, Ciel was indeed impressed by her brains.

Sullivan beat me to taking Ciel to the library and I might have been a bit huffy because of that. My suggestion to invite both friends over for tea perhaps served the main purpose of observing the way Ciel interacted with both of them, and how his interactions differed. It might not have been all that telling of the whole picture that he treated a young lady more courteous than a loud lad. All I know is that I saw that she was pretty with her pitch black hair, sharp eyes and overflowing confidence. Back in Ramsdale, I could tell that Ciel had never had any worrisome interest in the Midford girl, but Sullivan – I could not tell if I had discovered Ciel's _type_ , so to speak, or if I was imagining things. The voice of reason in my head tried to reassure me of how beneficial Ciel's newly forged bonds were for his healing process but my heart protested. The heart is an utterly useless thinker.

I did my best to hold back but eventually, curiosity overcame me one sunny morning.

“The Sullivan girl is a pretty thing, isn't she?”

Ciel interrupted the intake of his breakfast and slowly put his knife and fork down as if in anticipation of a bothersome discussion. “I guess she is...”

“Don't you think so?”

“Of course I do, I'm not blind, but where does that come from all of a sudden?”

“You see, Ciel, you and I, we both happened to be born as men. So did Soma. Sieglinde went the other way.”

“Are you trying to give me some weird Sebastian-style birds and the bees talk? We have penises, she has a vagina, I know, thank you very much.”

I shook my head. “That's not what I mean. I've told you before that I've, personally, never cared much about these things; you might as well have been a girl; it wouldn't have mattered, we'd still sit here together at this table today. I have no idea about you, though.”

“Are you referring to those former classmates of yours that had plenty of fun with the other boys at school as long as there were no girls around and then happily married and had kids later?” Ciel grinned, folded his hands and rested his chin on their knuckles. “Aww, are we jealous?” I did not like that look on his face. I drew my eyebrows together and wrinkled my nose maybe a little bit too dramatically; Ciel snickered at that.

I denied it, “I simply want to learn about you.” At that time, I really thought that was all there was behind my question, or at least I tried to convince myself of that. “Is she attractive to you? Or any other female, for that matter?”

The bluntness of my question threw Ciel off. “Wh-what about you, though? She probably fits right in with your tastes, you sick, old bastard, doesn't she?”

Only then I noticed it – Sullivan was Ciel's age, thin limbed and with that certain _air_ around her – a lovely little nymphet, and I am positive I would have immediately recognised her as such hardly more than a year or two ago; by then, however, I had become so absorbed in Ciel that there was no spare attention left for anybody else. Ciel could tell my surprise when I told him, “No, in fact, I'm not interested in her at all.”

My bewilderment returned a sense of security to him and he came forward, “Well, neither am I, at least not like that.”

“And what about women in general? Or are you perhaps too young to be able to tell?”

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, for the first time in what felt like centuries, Ciel took offence again in being called _too young_ for something. “Pah! This has nothing to do with my age. I... I can't tell but that’s because... I mean, isn't it normal not to really think about that when...” And there he stopped, bashful because of where his thoughts had lead him.

I decided to leave it at that and make up my own ending for that sentence of his. With a bright smile, I changed the topic, “Anyway, I'm glad you surround yourself with smart people, though I didn't expect any less of you.”

“Sullivan is smart, yeah – but Soma?” Ciel picked up his cutlery again.

“Didn't you know? Agni told me that Soma never does anything for school that goes beyond his mandatory homework and always has way too much free time on his hands, and do you know why? Because he doesn't need to study. Nothing at all. He already knows it all.”

“Eh...?”

“Soma is so smart, at the age of fifteen, he declined an invitation to start college in Cambridge – Cambridge, Massachusetts, not England – because he simply didn't want to give up his normal teen-ager life, or so Agni told me.”

Ciel dropped knife and fork. “That Soma? Are you kidding me?”

“I was just as surprised as you are now.”

Ciel turned his face away and stared into the mid-distance. He drew his eyebrows together, relaxed them again, then drew them back together, then relaxed them once again. I could see the effort it took him to process this revelation; the same effort it had taken me. For our mutual surprise to make sense, I need to paint the picture that we both previously had of Soma: The same boy that stuck bundles of raw spaghetti into his nostrils to mimic the tusks of the elephants that his family in India owned was apparently a gifted genius.

Ciel nodded. “Good for him, I guess. Good for him.”

And with that, both of us were happy: I was relieved to learn that I had nothing to worry about, and Ciel was dumbfounded for the rest of the morning.

 

About a month after our arrival in Weston, our financial situation deteriorated once again. Luckily, I had just picked up temporary employment at an office in town to be able to afford the rent of our house because I was informed by not only one but several letters that the bank would halt the flow of Ciel's inherited money into my pockets unless I confirmed my identity with Mr. Derek Traun, that ominous owner of the company that the money originally came from. I had no idea this could happen, as Mr. Midford left me no reason to worry about anything like that, but since I preferred not to get caught up too much in the history of the Phantomhive family, I just let it slide and hoped that the period until the employment we came to town for in the first place would pass quickly.

In the meantime, my efforts to be better to Ciel proved to be fruitful. His gloominess appreciably receded and despite his frequent outings with his new friends, I did not fall short, either. In fact, if anything, I benefited from his new spirits. One of those days, I was peacefully reading the newspaper in the living room when the wild little faunlet appeared out of nowhere between my knees.

“How badly do you wanna know what my mouth feels like around you?” were his exact words.

He had never allowed me this particular pleasure before. Deemed it off-putting. Though when he asked me that day, it was probably not entirely out of a whim; I had showered shortly before, and I suppose he had waited to catch me nice and clean, so there must have been a minimal amount of planning involved.

Ciel knew exactly how badly I wanted to discover that feeling, therefore I granted him no verbal reply; my fingers combing through his hair had to be enough. The little imp grinned, then groped me a bit before he unbuttoned my trousers. I dropped the newspaper to the ground. With mutual effort, the legs to Ciel's sides were soon unclothed, as was my shockingly solid length. The boy looked at it like he looked at his hot fudge sundaes; _where to dip the spoon first?_ I had no idea where his sudden enthusiasm came from but now was not the time to question it.

Ciel grasped my hardness with his delicate little hand. There is a certain softness special to fingers that know no physical labour at all, and oh, did this boy have soft fingers. He opened his hand around me again and shifted my member between thumb and the remaining fingers, inspected its planes from different angles – a little from the left, a little from the right, a little from above –  the grasped it firmly again, put pressure against it with his thumb, decreased the pressure, increased it again, looked me in the eyes. I had no idea what he was doing, or rather why he was doing it - I felt observed, analysed, and a little like in the middle of a very odd urological examination. Did he think I would like that? Or was he just satiating his curiosity? It did not matter, I had wanted this for so long, the mere proximity of his face to my lower body was enough to keep me in high spirits. He could have probably just sat between my legs and taken notes; I would not have cared as long as I had had reason to believe that he would stay true to his words and let me discover _what his mouth would feel like around me_.

He grinned when he saw me gnawing on my index finger, then bent down and extended his tongue towards me – finally! The wet muscle slid up and down the underside of my length, and I felt a lot of that muscle; the faunlet made sure to get a good first taste of me. He closed his eyes when he put more attention into how he touched me; closed the hand around me too and supported my length with his thumb. I felt his plump lips and the pink tongue peeking out on my tip before I could process the corresponding visual information. With his other hand, he held onto my thigh. Ciel put a lot of enthusiasm into working his mouth around my tip; eagerly he licked, sucked, kissed – like a lollipop, he held me steady against his pretty pout, and he was surprisingly excited to have his treat just for himself.

When I could not help but jerk against his mouth, he drew away to scold me. _Whoa, slow down there, mister._ After a little penalty time, he took me back into his hand and examined my shaft again. With the tip of his tongue, Ciel lapped on a protruding vein, then looked at it, examined the blood vessel with his fingertips, followed it up until it led him to the foreskin, where he switched to his tongue again, but he did not stay there for long – the attentive boy could tell from my sudden exhalation that if he were to proceed there, the fun would be over too soon. Instead, he wrapped his hand all around me once again, put my tip to his lips and swiftly slid me into his mouth. I winced a little.

“Take care with your teeth, Ciel.”

Mouth stuffed, he just growled in reply. Ciel noticed the pleasure I took from the vibrations his voice caused, and as he moved his mouth and hand up and down my length, he moaned rhythmically into the movements. Just as I was getting comfortable with the newly established rhythm, the boy let go of me, to catch some unrestricted breath, and observed me yet again. I was starting to feel like a scientific experiment, every little action of mine evaluated by the boy's calculating senses. I cannot claim it did not excite me in an odd way. I felt his heavy breath on my damp skin when he sampled my oozing pre-ejaculate with index- and middle finger to examine its texture.

“Is this your first time seeing a penis?” I could not help but tease.

“Well, I don't usually see any this close, do I? And most of the time, yours disappears inside of me pretty quickly as soon as you drop your pants.”

With that, however, Ciel's research on my manhood seemed to be complete. He closed his hand and mouth around it again and proceeded like before. To my delight, the boy used his other hand to unbutton his own trousers and touched himself too. He also deserved some pleasure.

My little lover slowly took more and more of my length into his eager mouth, until he gagged on it and had to cough the irritation away. He did his best but was overall very clumsy; I was reminded of our first kiss, how the clueless boy seemed to have no control over his mouth, and I enjoyed seeing and feeling him in a similar way again. His dedication to keep going was the same as then: When I suggested that he could stop anytime and I would do the rest, he decidedly refused. He would bring this to an end himself, no matter what.

Did it feel good? Objectively, no. Too much scratching of teeth, too little idea what really to do with me in his mouth. Not to forget the sheer dimensions! At fourteen, Ciel still had a lot of growth ahead of him, and maybe that included his mouth to a degree. He could only open it so far. I could have told him to take my length out of his mouth and do it more like he did in the beginning but it did not really matter as his very effort was enough to excite me so much, he soon had me on the edge. I knew I had to intervene there.

“You might want to stop now... or you'll get to taste even more of me.”

Ciel pulled away but only so he could speak, “That's the plan,” bent down again to proceed but I would not let him.

“No, believe me, you don't want this, I know you well enough to know that you don't really want this.”

I should have known that Ciel did not like to be told what he wanted or not. “You always swallow mine, now let me have the full experience too.”

I sighed. “Ok, go on, but don't blame me afterwards.”

Ciel did not take much of me into his mouth anymore. Instead, he played with my foreskin and head with his lips and tongue and used his hand for more extensive friction further down. The intensified sensation and the sheer beauty of Ciel between my legs, eyes closed and mouth wide open, focussing more on my body than his, and the little involuntary noises he made, all of those drove me so wild that when I came, I dropped all reservations – I pulled him to me and filled his precocious little mouth just the way he had asked for.

Ciel jerked back. He spit it onto the carpet and ran immediately to the kitchen with a loud “YUCK!” to wash the taste away.

“I told you so,” I exclaimed from the living room.

When I pulled my trousers up again, the boy returned with a grimace. “This stuff is nasty, how the hell can you do this without even pulling a face?”

I raised my index- and middle finger. “Two reasons. One: I can live with it for the greater good. Two: I have power over your diet, I know what you eat and when, and that has influence on the taste too.”

Ciel slitted his eyes. “Do you... feed me things that make me taste better? Any weird drugs I know nothing of?”

The accusation had me laugh. “No, I just know when better not to go down on you. I can teach you a bit more about that if you want, since you're in such a studious mood today.”

Ciel waved his hand. “Thanks, I've learned plenty today. But sometimes I really wonder where you take all that obscure knowledge from.”

There was but one issue left, and it still stood between Ciel's legs, despite his disgust. “You couldn't get yourself very far,” I suggested, “Want me to help you out with that?”

He replied with a sheepish _yes_.

I returned the little faunlet's favour and, as always, swallowed all of him, because as long as it was Ciel that I was tasting, it could never be bad.

Only a day later, I got a vague idea where Ciel's sudden explorational mood might have come from.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Sullivan, I'm so glad I'm including her in this story now.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bear with me.
> 
> As always, many thanks to ChromeHoplite for beta reading this!
> 
> [Art for chapter 20](http://nighttimeteaparty.tumblr.com/post/172143521084/ciel-a-reimagination-of-vladimir-nabokovs)

On the next day, Sieglinde Sullivan came over; no Soma with her, just the heavy books that she always carried around. Soma had not been all too wrong after all: Sullivan did fascinate Ciel with her extensive knowledge and while he did not care about reading scientific literature too much, the boy did enjoy to learn.

When Ciel's friends came to visit, the trio usually gathered in the kitchen – refrigerator right at hand. This time, however, the two adolescents disappeared in Ciel's room, door closed. As I have previously established, I had no reason to mistrust Ciel, so I just let them be. I did not plan to intrude on the privacy of their conversation; however, I still halted my movement as I was about to knock to offer the two some tea. I did so because of interesting keywords that I could hear through the door.

_Perineum..._  
_...prostate_  
_...and here, Cowper's gland..._

It was Sullivan who was speaking in a very matter-of-fact voice.

I forgot what I was about to do and stayed hidden behind the wooden barrier.

Next, it was Ciel who talked. “So it doesn't come from just one place after all.”

“No, not at all,” the girl explained, “It's complex, like what's in your blood; that doesn't just come from one place, either.”

Very interesting. I had an idea what the literature she brought with her that day was about.

She continued, “You're the first person that actually listens to me when I talk about these things. Other people usually either call me boring when I talk about physics or chemistry, or gross when it's about biology or medicine.”

“They're just stupid if they think so. It's interesting.”

I heard Sieglinde laugh confidently. “Isn’t it? That’s why I wanna be a doctor one day. Maybe you should become one too!”

“I don’t know about that…”

“Hey, can I ask you something?”

“Hmm, depends on what you wanna know?” Ciel's tone carried a sense of skepticism.

“You have some first-hand experience with this, don't you?”

My blood ran cold. Did she know? How did she know? Should I storm in immediately? But what then? No, it was better to wait and see. I trusted that the boy knew what to do. _Don't say anything wrong now, Ciel._

In a high pitch, he denied, “No, not at all! What would make you think so!”

“Not even kissed a girl?”

“No!” _Well, especially not that._

Sullivan sighed. “Too bad. I really thought you had done that at least, because sometimes you sound so experienced. Also, you're not half as awkward as other people about this topic. I just wanna ask someone a few questions that has some practical experience but I don't really know anyone I can ask. I thought you might be the one.” What a relief. She accepted his pathetic denial.

“Sorry, you've got the wrong one.”

“Do you think I can ask your stepdad some stuff? He seems like a cool guy, like he wouldn't mind.” I was a very cool stepdad indeed, I even let the kids keep to themselves behind closed doors.

“God, no, please don't. No.”

I snickered to myself. It was not all that easy to embarrass Ciel with topics relating to sexuality, or at least I did not think it was, because he had not been this bashful in front of me in a long time, but apparently it was different with other people. I remembered the reason why I came to the door in the first place. Entering the conversation now promised to be fun.

I knocked two times, then let myself in with my most hospitable smile. “Pardon me, I wanted to ask you two if you'd like to have tea and biscuits, but I couldn't help but overhear that you wanted to ask me something, Miss Sullivan?” I found the two sitting on Ciel's virginal bed, anatomy books all over the place. Ciel was clearly embarrassed, judging from the way he shifted on the blanket, to be caught discussing their current subject; Sullivan, however, did not bat an eyelash.

Ciel intervened, “Why don't you just go and bring us the tea? It's not important...”

“Ciel, be politer to your guest, especially when the guest is a lady,” I scolded him, then turned to the girl. “Yes, Miss Sullivan? Does your question relate to your current studies?”

“See, Ciel? He's not mad at all about me teaching you.”

“That's not why I...” the boy whined, “Just don't-”

“Mister Michaelis,” A great gleam of scientific interest ignited in Sullivan's eyes, “How long does it take for a young and healthy man for all the blood to run down there so that the pen-hbfh”

Ciel tackled the girl down with a large pillow and a shriek. “Oh my god! Can you maybe not go around and ask strangers stuff about their genitals?! What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

“Language, Ciel,” I intervened.

“Shut up, you're not my father!”

“That was mean, Ciel,” Sullivan complained beneath the pillow, “What you said to your stepdad and also, you can't just ravage a young maiden like that. You have to be gentle with me...” Hand on her forehead, the girl made a coquettish side glance.

Ciel did half a reverse somersault and landed on his back, somewhere between the books, face as red as a traffic light. He opened his mouth as if to scream but no sound came out. I struggled not to laugh out loud. My modest snickering was still too much and the next thing I remember is the pillow that smacked into my face.

I caught it before it hit the ground, laid it onto a chair that was out of reach for Ciel on the bed, and turned to the girl again. “However, Miss Sullivan, I'm afraid I have to agree with Ciel. I admire your academic curiosity but it's not befitting of a lady to ask adult men they hardly know these kinds of things. Take care whom you're talking to; you might as well end up getting involved with someone dangerous. You're free, however, to ask Ciel whatever you want. He's not dangerous.”

“Hmm, ok,” she replied, then turned to Ciel. “See? This is how to politely decline a lady.”

Ciel was just lying on the bed at that point, petrified, desperately clinging onto the last bit of life left in his chest.

“Pardon my intrusion, I'll just bring you two some tea, alright?”

Sullivan raised a thumb. “Yes, please, sir!”

Ciel kicked me in the shin as soon as Sullivan left for home. I deserved it, I knew, but the amusement was worth the pain. Despite his current resentment of me, the boy confirmed my suspicion that the curiosity about my reproductive organs that he had showcased a day earlier was related to what his new friend had been teaching him. I reassured him that there was no reason to be embarrassed about curiosity regarding the theory behind the practical approach he had already been very familiar with, but that he had to choose his words carefully around a smart girl like Sieglinde Sullivan. “She might pick up on something, no, it seems she's already picked up on something, considering her allusions to your _experience_.”

“I know,” he murmured. “Wait, how long were you listening in on us?”

I smiled nonchalantly. “Not long and it wasn't my intention but I picked up a few bits and pieces before I entered the room.”

“Well, I guess it doesn't matter. You know, I was kinda afraid you'd answer her.”

“Her question was really inappropriate.”

“Of course it was but it's _you_ I'm talking about. Imagine it would've been me two years ago when I came back from summer camp. I bet you would've asked me if I want you to show me.”

“To be honest, I think I would've told you to find out by yourself, on your own body, but I would've been surprised and a bit worried if, at that age, you hadn't had that experience yet, and I would've told you that too.”

Ciel blushed. “You're so presumptuous, to automatically assume something like that of a twelve-year-old!”

I tilted my head to the side. “I went to boarding school from age ten; if I know one thing for sure, it's that, yes, about everyone has had that experience at twelve, the difference lies just in how the boys go about dealing with it.” I paused. “But to give you the reply you actually want, you were different. Your curiosity was in no way as technical as hers; you raided my personal library out of a much more _basic_ drive. Didn't you?”

“Oh, don't you think Sullivan is just technically interested. You have no idea about the amount of ambiguous stuff she keeps saying when no adults are around. She’s puberty on legs.”

I smiled. “Hmm, in that case, I suppose it's because I just don't care about anyone but you. That's what you wanted to hear, isn't it?”

Ciel blushed even harder. “You're so terrible, I don't even know anymore why I'm staying with you.” Clearly, that was a lie.

 

A few days later, I finally received a reply letter from Mr. Midford. Within the envelope, I found just what I had asked for, and a little more.

Ciel was alright. The newly established daily routine and safety of a permanent home were beneficial, as was his willingness to let people acquaint themselves to him. I still wonder who had matured to enable him to do that now: the type of people around him or the boy himself. I almost thought that I had imposed an unnecessary task on Midford and given Ciel the object without an occasion when that assumption was proven wrong.

One August night, Ciel came home from one of his ice cream outings, pale and tired. It was not the regular exhaustion that usually came with spending too much time with the Indian exchange student, no. I knew that fatigue: Dull and empty eyes, the corners of his mouth hanging down. His grief was back.

I was prepared for this scenario. He would either disappear somewhere secluded, perhaps bed, and hope to be left alone, or hop onto my lap and want me to make him _feel something better_. I hoped for the first option since it would cost me less composure. Of course, things did not go my way. Ciel climbed onto the sofa I was lounging on, on top of me, and locked his lips with mine. His mouth was sour. Had his kisses always been sour when he was miserable?

I accepted the kiss but just the kiss. His hands wandered over me but before they could reach any destination below my waist, I grasped them.

“You don't feel well,” I aspirated.

“No shit, Sherlock.”

I kissed him again. I could not help it. His lips were too plump, too inviting when he pouted. _Kissing is alright_ , I thought, _but just kissing._ The boy, however, took it as an invitation for more and moved his hands to dangerous places. I stopped them once again. Ciel broke the kiss and gave me an accusing look.

I did not give in. “What happened to make you feel so bad?”

“None of your concern. Now let me have this.” Since he could not do much with his hands, he ground his crotch against mine.

I breathed heavier, this was not good. “Ciel... please stop.”

But Ciel did not listen to my words. Instead, he took to heart the answer he preferred: The movement of my hips that had taken on his rhythm. Both of us still fully clothed, we ground against each other. Ciel pulled my face to his neck and I obeyed his command by kissing the tender skin, mind lost somewhere along the way. Eventually, I flipped us around; laid Ciel onto the seating and propped myself above him. He thought he had me. I, however, finally remembered the one thing that could still help me: The image of the helpless and miserable boy, crying in his sleep, and how I swore myself to do whatever I could do to stop it. I needed to stop _myself_ , now or never.

I pinned the boy down so he could not continue. “We can't go on like this forever. Numbing the pain with intercourse won't solve any problems.” The situation was far from ideal; I was excruciatingly hard and so was he. I had to try anyway.

“Since when?”

“Since always, though I'll admit it took me a long time to understand this much.”

Ciel relaxed beneath me and I took that as a sign that I could release him from my hold. “Why should it help if I told you about what happened? You don't really care anyway, do you?”

That assumption shocked me. I sat back. “Is that really what you think? Of course I do! I want to know what bothers you.” Agni was right all along. If I did not ask Ciel directly, he would never talk, no matter how much he needed it. “Please tell me what happened. I can tell that you're thinking of your mother again, you have that certain look.”

Ciel sat up and averted his eyes. “It's stupid. I should just get over it. Soma got a letter from his parents and told us about it. I'm overreacting. Nobody's at fault.”

“Do you think it always takes a perpetrator for sadness to be justified?”

“No...”

“Then why won't you just talk to me about your feelings?”

“Because...” The boy took a deep breath. “Because you didn't even really care about mother, so why would you understand?”

“Because I care about _you_ , that's how simple it is.”

Ciel gave me a tired look.

“Do you still not believe that I do?”

“...That's not it. I do believe you.”

“She was a wonderful woman and just because I didn't love her, doesn't mean I couldn't stand her. Even though you seem to think so.” It would have been a lie to say I did care about Rachel but it was true that I held no ill feelings against her. If anything, I was thankful to her for giving birth to and raising Ciel.

The boy folded his hands in his lap and looked down at them.

“Wait a moment, let me fetch something for you.” I went over to my desk, where I stored the object that I had asked Mr. Midford for in a drawer, and returned to Ciel to present it to him.

He took the two photographs from my hand. One of it was of Rachel like she looked when I knew her, the other one depicted the whole Phantomhive family; Ciel much younger, Rachel with a slightly different coiffure and father and baby brother still alive. “Where did you...”

“I asked Mr. Midford to look for a photo of your mother. He added the family portrait. I thought I should wait until a moment like this to return them to you.”

Ciel's hands shook and so did his lips. He slowly placed the photographs onto the coffee table and took a deep breath before he could continue in a relatively calm voice. “Why now, after so long?”

“I was ignorant, so ignorant. I thought it was best not to mention her anymore; I thought this way you could forget her and heal. Maybe I also simply considered it easier for _me_. However, the aim shouldn't be to make you forget her, but to enable you to think back to her in fond memory.”

Ciel examined the pictures on the coffee table, not daring to touch them, and considered my words. He still trembled. I reached out for his hand. He looked at me with great expectations and I knew that I needed to embrace him again. This time, when I held him to my body, he did not try to slide his hands beneath my waistband; he just collapsed against my chest. I combed through the boy's hair. With his ear at my heart, his tremble eventually stopped.

“Will you tell me a bit about your mother? Let me see her with your eyes.”

The boy clutched my shirt. After a bit of consideration, he began, “She never cried in front of me. When father died, she never cried in front of me. She did, alone in her bedroom, when she thought I was asleep, but she always tried to be cheerful around me.”

I continued to brush through Ciel's hair and listened, waited for more.

“When I didn't wanna go to school and acted like I was sick, she was never mad at me. Instead, she asked me for the real reason why I didn't wanna go. Sometimes it was because I had a fight with someone at school and didn't wanna see them, or sometimes, I just wanted to stay home and play with my toys. If it was something like the first case, she talked it through with me but then let me stay at home anyway. When it was the latter, often she would still let me stay, because I was such a good boy on most days and deserved some fun, or so she said.”

“That was nice of her.”

“Yeah, it was.” Ciel took a moment to think of another story. “Mother loved sweets too, as you know. When we had a bag of candies at home and it was about to run empty, she always made sure that I got the last piece. When she made pie, she did the same, even if she'd hardly had any yet.”

“Mhm...”

“When I felt bad, mother made warm milk with honey for me. She only made it when she wanted to cheer me up because that way, it remained something special... Oh, one time, I got into a fight with the child of our neighbours and I ended up with a cut on my temple, and she threw a temper tantrum at the parents to control their son, because she was one hundred percent convinced that her Ciel didn't start the fight, but I think I actually did start it but I only told her so after that...” the boy chuckled softly. “She had to go back and apologise for being so rude.”

“She trusted you as much as you trusted her, didn't she?”

“Yes... she did... that's why...” The tremble started again. “That's why... it's my fault... she trusted me... and then she realised...”

I held him tighter. “No, Ciel, no, nothing is your fault. You did nothing wrong.”

“I regret letting you touch me.”

I tensed.

“That was a lie. I don't regret it. I hate myself for that. I could've done something at any point, but I didn't, because I always wanted it. Even after you told me about the disaster with your journal, I still couldn't bring myself to regret what I did. Resent myself for it? Yes. But I don't regret anything, and that's horrible. I wouldn't reveal your true intentions if I could turn back time. I'd do it the same way again... God, I feel bad about not feeling bad about sleeping with her husband.”

“That's nonsense, you have no fault at anything. It was bad luck that a car came down the street just when she crossed it, even though there's so little traffic there. It was unfortunate that she found my journal. I was incredibly stupid to keep it in the first place. It was all my fault. I am to blame, not you. I am... I'm sorry.”

“You don't apologise for making your advances, do you?”

“I can't be sorry for that. Never.”

“That's alright. It means that your apology is honest.”

I kissed the top of his head.

“Sebastian... You didn't do it on purpose. She didn't die because you wanted her to. It was an accident. That makes your fault much smaller.” He clutched me harder. “I don't hold any grudges against you anymore. But thank you for the apology, it was about time. I needed it.”

“If you don't hold any grudges against me anymore, then forgive yourself too.”

“...It's not that easy... when I always lived to make her happy. She probably died miserable. Disgusted about what had happened to me. Can you imagine what she'd feel like if she knew that I hold onto the affair that killed her?”

“Do you feel guilty about being happy?”

“...Sort of.”

“But don’t you think your happiness is what your mother would’ve wanted the most? I’m sure her prime concern was the harm I would cause. I mean, granted, she’d resent _me_ for everything I’ve done and still do, and that’s fair, but you? Your mother always wanted you to be happy and healthy, no matter the means, so don’t you think she’d want the same today?

“Hmm...”

“I believe if you want to make up for what you are sorry for, the best you can do is to be happy.”

Ciel did not argue against that.

We laid there for another while and I asked Ciel to tell me more stories about Rachel. I thought we would fall asleep like that, but no. When he was done sharing his memories, the adolescent lifted himself a little out of my arms and gently laid his lips onto mine. We did sleep with each other that night, but it was alright, for the act did not serve as a remedy, but as a conclusion when all had been said. In the morning, I made Ciel warm milk with honey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boy, that was cheesy. My inner tsundere is cringing.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings from Berlin, where I went to see Lana Del Rey live. Without her music I probably wouldn’t be writing this fanfic. Incidentally, Vladimir Nabokov lived in Berlin for a few years but that was long before he wrote Lolita.
> 
> A big thank you again to ChromeHoplite!
> 
> [Art for chapter 21](http://nighttimeteaparty.tumblr.com/post/173037817894/ciel-chapter-21-in-which-fall-has-come-so-this)

There is not a single quality of Ciel's that my feelings for him can be attributed to. His unblemished, doll-like appearance that made him seem almost unreal might have sufficed for a quick infatuation, but Ciel, to me, was so much more. He was not just his love for challenging games, or his sweet tooth, or the little sighs he made when he napped in the living room and dreamed of green skies with clouds shaped like honeycombs. Nor was he the way he groaned when I annoyed him on purpose. Ciel was the sum of his parts, and it was the whole boy that I loved. One of those parts was his ambition to be the best possible version of himself, which made him an adolescent easy to raise. I wanted the boy to get a good education, and so did he, even if it meant additional workload. His new school was recommended to me by Agni; a co-educational private academy with a well-balanced curriculum, and both Soma and Sullivan went there too.

The school uniform did not play into this choice but it was certainly a juicy cherry on top. Jacket, waistcoat, trousers and shoes pitch black, the shirt crisp white. The only splotch of colour was the striped necktie. Blue for freshmen; green, yellow and red for sophomores, juniors and seniors, accordingly. The ensemble was constructed rather neatly and had a flattering fit. It brought out the seriousness in the boy's character. Ciel liked looking at himself in the mirror and it goes without saying that I liked looking at him too. He was quick to notice that and in reference to the novella that was currently lying on the coffee table, he verbally enslaved me by calling me Severin or, worse, Gregor.

I loved being at home. Had there been an embroidery spelling _my home is my castle_ in the living room, although I would have openly despised it for its tastelessness, in secret, I would have agreed with the message, and left it at its place. The Weston house was not particularly appealing; in fact, it reminded me of the Phantomhive house with its eclectic bourgeois patterns and fabrics and lace doilies, but it was our house – at least as long as I would pay the rent. We had not been there for long but traces of our coexistence soon spread all over the place. Our underwear in separate drawers in the bedroom with a view into the secluded little garden, a ketchup stain on the kitchen curtain from that time Ciel slipped and spilt the bottle, eggs and milk and flour that I needed to cook for us: all of these things might still mark what used to be our mutual territory. Likewise did the two photographs of his mother and his family that Ciel framed and put onto a chest of drawers in the living room. I would occasionally catch him there, absorbed in memories of a time before me. I left him alone at those times. No, I was not returning to my avoidant negligence of his emotional state – I had no place in Ciel's thoughts in these moments; he did not need me. He smiled at the pictures. Bittersweet smiles but genuine all the same. They were not meant for me, and I had come to understand that for the boy to be able to smile for me, he had to be able to smile for himself too.

Indeed, I got my own fair share of smiles. Most of those were somehow tied to a mischievous intent, like when Ciel proclaimed checkmate, or successfully stole a spoonful of honey when I was about to put it to nobler use (prepare a dessert for the little thief). However, I got my genuine smiles too, like when he finally received the dessert, or when we shared an opinion over a trivial news topic, or when he woke up next to me, realising I had been awake and caressing him for he-did-not-know-how-long. No, Ciel was not magically free of woe – healing is a process. But he got better, significantly better, and I was happy and a little proud that my effort had paid off.

When in the very beginning I derived an incestuous joy from the fantasy that, under the false pretence of fatherly love, I would bed my stepchild instead of my wife, I gradually turned apprehensive of associations with fatherhood. It still thrilled me to disguise ourselves as family under the public eye, that is simply in my nature, though when I did not plan to drop the boy like a hot potato anymore as soon as he would reach a certain age, the change of mind came with an awareness that I had responsibilities towards him, and the more responsible I saw myself, the worse I feared turning into a genuine father substitute. To oppose this turn of events, I suppose, I treated Ciel like a short adult – one who had not only just lost his last remaining family member – instead of supporting him the way a thirteen-going-on-fourteen-year-old needed. How presumptuous it was of me to assume that I could ever replace his father, whether I wanted to or not! Instead, I should have acknowledged that even though Ciel was smart, and I would argue indeed maturer than his peers, he was still a fourteen-year-old. All the smarts in the world cannot substitute the personal growth that an adolescent needs to undergo. For that, he needed the security that a reliable, experienced adult could provide. Offering that security to Ciel did not mean that my feelings for him had to change: I could be there to support and protect Ciel, be his anchor and strength where he lacked, and still upkeep the grounds we stood on. Eros, agape, philia, storge – I am offended by such words. The mere suggestion that the complexity of our bond might be shoehorned into any such narrow concepts disgusts me. For similar reasons I defy critique concerning the asymmetry of our relationship. What relationship really is symmetrical, anyway? And why is it noble to love a partner in need of care at the end of his life, but ignoble to do the same thing at the beginning? I could meet Ciel where he was and I was willing to go that length.

My new employment was overall convenient. My students worked hard, perhaps to impress me, as the supply of handsome bachelors at a women's college was limited and the news of my widowhood were quick to spread all over the campus. I got along well with most of my colleagues, too. The only little nuisance was Wolfram Gelzer, Sullivan's caretaker, who, despite belonging to a different institute, took the time out of his busy workdays to stalk me across the campus for an entire week. He was shocked to find out that I had noticed him when I walked up to him asked what particular issue he had with me, and although he did not grant me enlightenment, my best guess is that he mistrusted the father figure that belonged to the new boy who had been spending so much time with his little girl recently. It would have explained why the trio never dared to meet at Sullivan's. With that, his pursuit of me ended and I could work in peace, but Agni's plans to form a single-father-by-chance-club came to naught. 

For Ciel, the semester began with Christmas. Through a local hunting gear store as his proxy, a generous sponsor funded this year's school celebration not only at Ciel's school, but all schools in town, and all institutions, private and public, joined forces for a jolly merry pompous Christmas sponsored by the arms industry. Sullivan, who happened to share many of Ciel's courses, applied the boy for their school's nativity play without his knowledge. Much to his annoyance, his pretty face scored him the role of an angel, which meant that he would have to dangle down a rope for much of the play. 

Sullivan was a reliable source of stress of other kinds too. The girl was a bloodhound. I do not know what it was that she could smell, either his hormones or his fear, but I have no reason to believe that he gave her any humanly perceptible hint at any sort of circumstances deviant from a normal warden-ward-relationship between us. Perhaps it was her intrinsic motivation to apply her profound knowledge and adolescent curiosity to anyone tangible; perhaps it was a wild guess when she asked Ciel if he fancied me and it was his nervous reaction that solidified her belief. Perhaps she just wanted young romance to happen around her. All I can do is speculate but the real problem was that Ciel did not know how to handle her. Of course, he adamantly denied any hint of truth in that assumption, but the fact that she kept asking suggested that she did not entirely believe in his rebuttal, and truth to be told, I have a colourful image of Ciel's denials in front of my eyes, similar to the reaction he showed when Sullivan asked him whether he had any sexual experience – his hysterical _no_ had not been a very believable lie.

With the background knowledge that I had not been in Ciel's life for long, and thereby was not a classical father figure but more something like _a very old friend_ (not my words), Sullivan insisted that it would be _cute and normal at his age to crush on someone handsome_ (Ciel displayed physical pain when he had to cite the word _handsome_ ; he hated to cater to my vanity), although sadly, he would have to get over it but it would help if he talked about it and that he had no reason to feel bad about crushing on a man because she read that there used to be times and cultures when and where that was perfectly normal and she sees no reason why not, so he could really talk to her. 

Of course, Ciel did not give in to her nosy grilling but the problem remained. She was on to something and neither of us could tell why.

“I'm not even lying when I say I don't have any such stupid thing as a crush on you. This is something completely different. I have my fun with you at my convenience and that's it.”

Ouch.

“But her realising that would be even worse.” With that, Ciel was right.

“Do you talk about me a lot?”

“Not more than the others talk about their adults.” 

He did not deny talking much about me; I felt flattered.

“I'll just try not to mention you anymore at all.”

And that was it for a while. Although he had no problems getting along with his schoolmates, Ciel did not form any other _valuable relations_ anymore, and so his social circle remained limited to Sullivan and Soma, and occasionally people connected to those two.

As the sun went dormant behind thick blankets of clouds and temperatures sank, it was time to stock up on Ciel's leisure wardrobe as he had grown taller. Unlike a year earlier, he did so quite willingly, although without much motivation as he did not have to take care of what to wear to school and he had never really cared about the decency or indecency of how he presented himself at home, and home is where he spent most of his leisure time. I had had great influence on what Ciel wore ever since his mother was no more, and so I adorned my little dress up doll to my liking. It was harder when he had his age-conscious phase but in autumn, he did not care about such trivialities anymore. He displayed no emotional reaction when the shop assistant brought him a pair of men's trousers to try on; neither did he when it turned out that the boys' slacks that I had picked still fit him significantly better. His eating habits changed too: the boy's appetite grew and he even asked for seconds every so often. Not entirely sure if it was related to his mental condition, or his growth, or both, I settled for the assumption that it was a good sign, no matter the cause.

He was still beautiful. _Dear Sebastian Michaelis of 1947, you are an imbecile. Ciel is as intriguing as ever. Love, your future self._ I considered myself lucky to be allowed to witness his metamorphosis in every little detail. I cannot think of a more intimate way to know another's body. Unlike other boys that underwent this change alone and perhaps in insecurity, Ciel had someone to show himself to without reservations, someone that appreciated every last bit of him. Every growing bone, every single new hair. 

I felt appreciated too. Ciel showed his affection that he would verbally never admit to in little actions. He had the option to do his homework alone at the desk in his room; instead, he chose my company. He would wait for me to come home, with my own load of homework to correct, and we would sit together at the kitchen table, work in silence, and occasionally the boy would glance at me and think I would not notice, or vice versa. The intimacy of being together, each to himself, is vastly underappreciated. 

On weekends, Ciel prioritised me over his friends. The two days off per week were mostly spent with quiet recreational activities at home, like preparing desserts together (or rather watching me do that by myself) or lounging in the living room and either doing nothing really, or talking about yesterday's dinner, then venturing out into a discussion about reality, perception of reality, and whether reality can be perceived at all, only to end up at the conclusion that yesterday's waffles for dinner were perceived as delicious, whether real or not. One time, Ciel found a camera in the attic. Although neither he nor I had any idea how to properly use it, he was quick to shoot the whole film it came with to the end; twelve shots, out of which ten were so underexposed that one could barely make out anything at all. The other two were a fairly decent picture of his feet and the blurry right two thirds of my sleeping, drooling face. Ciel stuck the latter onto the refrigerator because it looked absolutely ridiculous.

Rehearsals for the nativity play started rather early. Although he did not have many lines to speak, I did get the impression that Ciel took something away from them that he recycled in the intonation and expressiveness of his recitals when we read to me. It was as fortunate as ever that he and I shared similar tastes, and it was soothing, satisfying, stimulating to read aloud stories whose endings we already knew; of fools, of lovers, of fiends, as the foolish lover's ear rested on the foolish fiend's chest, old volume in either his hands or mine, legs entwined and hidden away below heavy blankets. Ciel, wherever you are now, I hope you're not cold without my warm chest to rest upon. I wonder if you think of me when you turn the pages of your old favourites. 

I still held onto my plan to make it attractive to Ciel to study in England. Then, after that, we could move to France, where we would not have to fret criminal prosecution because of our Uranian relationship, and therefore would not have the need to keep it as strictly secret (we would find a way to hide the fact that I was legally his father, it could not be that difficult). And what can I say, Ciel was not averse to the thought. He wanted to see the Old World someday one way or another, and there was nothing, or rather nobody, that held him to America. When he started to contribute personal wishes and demands, and expressed in little ways that he could see himself in a future like that, I knew I was on a good way. We would live happy, healthy and wholesome lives, one day I would die of old age and someday Ciel would follow, hopefully not before the year 2010. Indeed, it was a pleasant future that felt tangible to Ciel; he developed an image of himself with a rightful place in this world, where he lived for himself but not alone. The 1950s are said to bring prosperity to the western world. Ciel would grow in size, confidence, and resoluteness.

And we would live happily ever after. The end.

Of course not.

Then _he_ set foot in our home.

He caught me off-guard. He, the subject of this text, a madman worse than I have ever been; an obsessive, maniacal, manic catastrophe. The jury is well-acquainted with his name, if not the person. Back then, it meant nothing to me; three syllables of no importance, recurring just by chance. His advantage over me was his ostensible insignificance.

He, Derek Traun. What reason would I have had to give him a second thought? I did not see what Ciel had foreshadowed long before we knew each other. Maybe things would have gone differently had I at least mentioned the letters to Ciel, or perhaps addressed his father's puzzling past. Perhaps I would have spoken to Traun privately, left on a peaceful note, and thereby taken the best of him. Instead, he rang the doorbell when I was not prepared, and it had to come to that because I had left him no other choice than to seek me out in person.

When I opened the door, I expected Ciel, who had a rehearsal that day and might have forgotten his keys at home. Instead, a man stormed past me, into my fortress, quicker than I could look.

Traun's introduction was unnecessary for I recognised his eccentric appearance from the photographs Rachel once showed me. “Finally, I meet you,” he declared in the vestibule; soiling the floor that I had only just cleaned a day earlier with the mud that his worn-out shoes carried inside on this showery afternoon. His disguise of tailored suit and slick but ghostly white ponytail did not distract from the eccentricity he tried to tone down. An almost painfully well-formed visage whose only mar was not the oblique scar across his face, but the bizarre revelation of his teeth that bystanders would have termed a smile. A pair of green mamba-coloured eyes peeped out from beneath a dishevelled fringe. After the second it took me to analyse his appearance, I found myself in a fighting stance, muscles tense – I did not even formally know how to fight; not more so than any other healthy, relatively athletic adult man that happened to be exempt from fighting in the war. My instincts told me this man was here to stir up trouble and my body acted accordingly.

Traun hummed a song I did not recognise, shifted on his heels in a half-dance and thereby spread the filth below his soles. I really did not like unexpected guests, much less ones without manners. That was in fact the main issue I had with him at the moment. “I'm afraid I'm rather busy right now. Would you please leave at once and call so we can agree on a better time to discuss whatever you want?” I would just get rid of him on the telephone later once and for all.

“Oh my, oh my, why so cold? Did I do something to upset you? Oh!” He looked to the ground and lifted one foot. “My apologies, hahaha! I won't keep you busy for long.”

I sighed. “You want the money back, don’t you? Don’t worry, I’ll return it by instalments. I have no intention to freeload on your or Ciel's costs.”

“Silly you, I'm not here for that. I'm here to meet you, Mr. Michaelis – Rachel's other husband, Ciel's new daddy. I've wanted to meet you for so long but I guess fate wouldn't let me. Or was it you? Who is this man that's taken Vincent's boy away? What are his intentions? Can he be trusted? I have my doubts.” 

“I beg your pardon?”

“You'd better let Vincent's boy go.” 

Where did his bad opinions come from? We had never met, who was he to come to my house  and insult me like this? If it had not been for my good manners, I would have thrown him out at once. Instead, I tried to argue. “I am not holding him hostage. I'm his legal guardian.”

“Sure you are... poor kid! If only I'd been there earlier. Now he doesn't want to go away anymore. Look what you've done to him.”

Had he spoken to Ciel? Was Ciel alright? “Where's Ciel? Did _you_ do something to him? What have _you_ done to him?”

As if by command, Ciel came through the door, perplexed at the intruder's sight. “Undertaker? What are you doing here...” When he picked up on the tense atmosphere, he tensed too. 

“Oh well, you're right, we should talk it all out on a better day, and anyway, I'm in a hurry, guess I'll better go now. Heehee!” The man turned around and patted Ciel on the head. “Take care, junior!”

Unable to reply anything, I followed him outside where I achieved nothing but soak my socks in the rainstorm. Traun disappeared on the backseat of a car. What had he even come for? Was insulting me all he wanted? And why was I running after him now when I wanted him to leave anyway?

I went back inside. Ciel greeted me with big eyes.

“ _Undertaker_?” I asked.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Backstreet's back, alright (does this tell you my age haha)
> 
> I changed a tiny little thing in the description of the house in the last chapter to add a little cohesiveness. It doesn't change much but I thought I'd point it out, in case someone's nitpicky (which I don't think is the case but you never know).
> 
> A big thank you again to ChromeHoplite!
> 
> [Art for chapter 22](http://nighttimeteaparty.tumblr.com/post/173605328220/ciel-a-reimagination-of-vladimir-nabokovs)

“I don't know where I should begin,” Ciel told me at the kitchen table, warming his blue fingers on a cup of Ceylon with milk. He had forgotten his umbrella at home and the rain had been unkind to him. Instead of one of his own, he had changed into one of my pullovers. It was baggy on him, he looked adorable, but that does not matter right now.

“Maybe at the part that explains why you call him _Undertaker_?”

Ciel chuckled. “It's an anagram. Derek Traun, Undertaker. But I also call him that because that's sort of what he is to me. People end up six feet under because of him. Mother always scolded me for it, but I thought it was brilliant. Father found it funny and so did Undertaker himself. He once gave me a lollipop as payment for the good laugh, or so he said. I was always a bit scared of him, so I'm not sure I ate it at all. I seriously thought it might be poisoned.” So the child knew quite well not to take candy from strangers and suspicious people, I thought. “Though that's a bit hypocritical because the same could've been said about father, since they were partners. That leads me to what I think he wants...” He hesitated.

“I'm listening.”

“I think he plans to make me assume father's position in his company as soon as I'm old enough.” Ciel spat an insult. “I'm never gonna do that.”

“To be honest, I have no idea what your father did for a living.”

“Mother never told you, did she?”

I shook my head. “No, all I know about his work is the face of his senior partner – Undertaker, as you call him. She always avoided that topic and frankly, I didn't really care. Until now.”

Ciel crossed his arms and frowned. “He... he didn't do anything illegal, if that's what you're thinking.”

“I couldn't care less if he did.”

“Right, I forgot I'm not talking to someone on particularly high moral grounds.”

I gave the brat a sour smile as a reply.

“They were in the arms trade. Well, Undertaker still is. Guns and all that, but also other arms. They cashed in on the war.”

“That's surprisingly... American.”

“I'll just pretend I didn't hear that and continue. I'm not sure about the details, I was too young to understand everything, but I think father did a lot of lobbying. He was charismatic and talented at wrapping people around his finger. As you could imagine, mother wasn't particularly happy with that job and I guess that rubbed off on me, but we did live well and without a single care throughout the war. Our first house was gigantic.”

“So your mother decided to move away after his death because she didn't want to live on symbolic heaps of dead bodies anymore?”

“Also that, but mostly because after father's death, Undertaker got unbearable. He was really fond of father and didn't cope well with his loss. Even before it happened, he used to tell me that I'd eventually grow up to be just like my father and join them in a similar position but I'm not nearly as charismatic as father and never will be, so I couldn't do that even if I wanted to. But after father died, Undertaker tried to pressure mother into making me go that way, and acted like we owed it to father. Father himself always told me that he wanted me to do with my life what _I_ wanted, though; not what anyone else wanted me to do. Well, all I knew was that I didn't wanna do _that_.”

Ciel gazed away and into a distance that I could not reach; his mind followed. What he just told me, he had not thought about in a long time. He was over his father's death (as much as an adolescent can be over the early loss of a parent); it had never really been an issue between us, but I do not doubt he still missed him sometimes.

I could not help but interrupt his musings. “I always assumed that your father died on the battlefield, you know.”

Ciel nodded. “Everyone does, and nobody ever asks, so it's easier to leave it at that. He had a stroke during a meeting. He was in the hospital for three days but didn't make it. I remember thinking it's unfair that someone as young as father would die like this, because he'd always been in good health, but I learned that it happens sometimes. _I_ eventually understood this much.”

The boy drifted off again; this time, I let him think until he was ready to talk again.

“It's weird, you know,” Ciel looked at me again, “He was a really loving father. Kind and understanding. That wasn't just a mask; he would've done everything for us. But at the same time, he didn't really care about the consequences of what he did for a living. He never tried to justify it – he didn't care where their wares landed as long as they got the money.”

“Good and bad co-exist in everyone. Noone is just one of each – we're all somewhere on a spectrum, that's human nature, even though some might be very close to one of its ends. Your father could've been genuinely good towards people he cared about, while at the same time not caring about the fates of strangers far, far away.”

“I guess you're right. Not even _you_ are entirely bad. Probably.”

“I'll just pretend I didn't hear that. Please continue your story.”

“We had our first rehearsal with the other schools today and Undertaker came to watch. This time I recognised him. Now, listen to this: The shop that pays the sponsorship for the festival is tied to his company, so it's basically him who's sponsoring us.”

“ _This time_?”

Ciel gulped. “Remember that weird man at our first hotel, the one that asked so many personal questions?

“So, you mean to say that was him?”

Ciel nodded. “Unlike just now, he looked like a mess that day. Scruffy clothes and dirty hair... that's not how he used to present himself. And that's not what he looks like now, either. But father did say that he only dressed up for special occasions and when he visited us at home, so... but still. I really wish I would've recognised him.”

“I don't think it would've changed anything. But what happened today?”

“I think he was looking for me, and when he found me, he wouldn't let me go until Sullivan stepped in. He went on and on about how it would be better for me to leave you and move in with him, because it's too suspicious that mother died so soon after you married. I wouldn't have needed her help but it was funny to see how furious she got when he suggested that you're up to no good. Looks like you found an unlikely ally in her. She insisted on walking me home for most of the way and went on a tirade about how insensitive and ignorant Undertaker was.”

I gave it all a bit of thought for a moment. Traun knew where we lived because he could track the bank account, something I had withheld from Ciel but explained to him now. From the sound of it, the man did not have any financial worries and me paying anything back was not his concern. His demand for me to confirm my identity with him if I wanted to keep on accessing the account was perhaps a way of trying to get in touch with me. He had probably guessed that I had no interest in talking to him without a reason; who knew what sorts of things Rachel had told him about me in her letters. Contacting Ciel directly was the other, perhaps better option if what he wanted was _Ciel_. But why go to such expensive lengths as to finance a giant festival? Did he not know where he could find his person of interest? His sudden appearance when they all came together for the first time did leave that impression with me. Though had it not been for Sullivan, Ciel would have never even been at any of the rehearsals. The truth was, we hardly understood anything. My legally assigned son's life was none of his business. He had an opinion of me and we did not know where it came from. And most of all, we had no idea how long he had been watching us. Had the confrontation in the hotel formerly known as Crow's Nest been a chance encounter? Could we shake him off when we left the hotel that day? But most of all, what was he scheming now?

“However,” Ciel interjected, “at the end of the day, do we have to care? Mother was financially dependent on him to a certain degree and didn't wanna make him our enemy, but that's not the case anymore. He can grow a deep hatred for us, for all I care. If he gets too obtrusive, we'll just call the police.”

Indeed, Ciel was right. The law was on our – on _my_ side. I was Ciel's legal guardian; Traun was just a madman. Ciel and I were a team. If Traun wanted to challenge us, we would have our fun with him. As long as Ciel and I worked together, he could not do anything; he could not prove anything if he had any ideas. And of course, we would work together, and Ciel would stay with me forever.

Traun did challenge me and did not realise that the prize we played for was a contestant on my side of the game. In fact, Ciel made the first move himself. Our enemy continued to attend the small rehearsals at Ciel’s school, came up to chit-chat with the boy and suggested here and there that Ciel should consider moving in with him. The little schemer only talked to him to gain the man's trust; eventually, he asked for Traun's Weston telephone number so they could talk privately, or so he said. What he really did was pass the number on to me and I called to offer to meet once again on neutral grounds, so he could get a better picture of me.

“I'm afraid I was a bit rude since you caught me on a bad day,” I explained myself. “I'd like to settle this dispute, I think there shouldn't have been one in the first place, so would you perhaps give me another chance?”

Traun did not even consider my request. “I've met my share of people like you, all polite and careful with words. But I recognise a villain when I see one, so forget about it. Phantomhive junior will understand it too, sooner or later.”

And then he just hung up on me. What nonsense he could spurt. He had barely talked to me for two minutes, if even – what kind of profound observation could he have made of me in that short a moment? I believed that all he had wanted from our brief encounter was the conformation of a bias he had held against me from the very start.

Traun attended two more rehearsals, but realised it was in vain: Sullivan and Soma would not even let him near Ciel anymore. All of a sudden, I developed friendly feelings for them both. Ciel had been right, it was indeed objectively beneficial now that he had formed these relationships over the summer. I encouraged Ciel to invite the kids over more often. In turn, their trust in me as Ciel's guardian would grow even stronger and if Traun the madman tried to talk the police into investigating me, I would have two, no, three solid testimonies to speak for me – I had not planned to involve him but of course, through Soma, Agni learned of the harasser too. Who, if not Agni, the faithful friend that regularly inquired on the situation with Ciel, silently cheering for me on the sidelines, would attest the integrity of my character? Law enforcement would be on _my_ side.

Traun knew that too and changed his strategy. Ciel started to receive letters.

The first one had us both very curious. The sender was not specified on the envelope but its origin was obvious. Ciel opened it carefully, as if a poisonous frog or snake or intent might have jumped out and at him. All that he found inside, however, was a piece of white cardboard with three sentences made into a single one written into the centre in a very melodramatic fashion.

Ciel read it out aloud. “ _Please think about it, you're safe with me, I just want the best for you._ Pfft.”

“He sounds like I'm trying to eat you in your sleep.”

“I meeean... _that's_ not too far away from the truth, you perv. You know. That time.”

Indeed I remembered what he was referring to, though fret not, dear ladies and gentlemen of the jury, all happened with his explicit consent; acting without it went against my aesthetics. “Maybe I should repeat that to help him make at least a little sense. But for now, what do you want to do with the letter?”

“Dump it in the trash. That's where it belongs. I don't know what he's trying to achieve with this but he's certainly _not_ making himself look trustworthy.”

With every new day, there came a new letter. _Believe me, he's dangerous_ ; _There's so much that I need to tell you_ ; _If it's your friends that you don't wanna leave behind, we can talk about that_ – such were the poor lures that he tried to utilise. It was funny, there was clearly a bit of desperation in his eccentric attempts at persuasion. By the fifth day, we had started to speculate on what the next daily inspirational quote could be about, but Ciel's laugh turned into silence and his face turned white, then green, then dark when he saw the content of that day's mail.

I took it from Ciel's frozen hand to see what could unsettle him so much. A photograph: Rachel and Vincent Phantomhive with their newborn little Ciel. On the backside, Traun had left yet another note. _Don't forget them._

If he had not ruined his chances of making friends with Ciel before, he certainly did it with that message.

“Who the hell does he think he is and what does he take me for?! It was all fun and games until now but this... this just made it personal. He'll pay for that.”

Ciel took the photograph from me again, observed it one more time, then tore – no, he did not bring himself to destroy the image of his loved ones.

“Do you want me to do it?” I asked.

Ciel nodded and handed me the picture. “Go ahead. He won't get into my brain with this.”

The boy could barely bring himself to watch me tear it into pieces, but thanked me from the bottom of his heart for taking the task from him.

Our enemy continued to invade our mailbox but Ciel and I decided it was best not to open the letters anymore. Instead, we stored them all in a cardboard box, to collect proof of Traun's harassment in case we did decide to file a police report. Before that, however, less threatening measures seemed more sensible, and it was Ciel who took these measures. The lunatic did not talk to me anyway and the letters had been an attempt to contact Ciel, not me. Traun would listen to him, or at least he would not hang up on the boy immediately.

I considered Ciel's initiative a milestone. Until then, it had always been I who made an effort to guarantee our peaceful cohabitation. The boy's drive to do the same now reassured me that being with Ciel was the right thing to do and that it went according to what he wanted too. Ciel was rightfully mine.

However, the boy was scared. Of course he did not admit it, like he would never admit how much he really liked me either, but his shaking hands as he approached the telephone spoke for themselves. Ciel was just a fourteen-year-old. He was snarky and did not avoid confrontations, but his usual conflicts were with other children; not rich, unpredictable adults. Therefore (but also because I, of course, wanted to listen in on the conversation), I was by his side when he picked up the telephone receiver. Ciel needed two deep breaths until he could bring his trembling fingers to dial the number. As the dial tone rang, he searched for my hand. I clutched it and he exhaled in relief. Then Traun picked up; with my ear on the other side of the receiver and my cheek on the knuckles of Ciel's fingers, I could make out what he said.

Ciel was quick to get to the point. “Undertaker, I'll be straightforward with you. I'm not calling you because I want to accept any of your offers to take me away from here. Rather the opposite. I want to convince you that I'm fine.”

“Is the writer next to you right now?”

“You mean Sebastian? Yes, and I want him to be there. I want him to hear what I'll say to you.”

“Then go ahead, I'm all ears.”

Ciel took a deep breath. “Look, I don't know why you're so wary of Sebastian but you don't need to be. He doesn't always leave the best first impression, I get that.” That was very untrue; I usually left very good first impressions. “And it must look really suspicious that mother died so soon after their marriage but if you gave him the opportunity to explain himself and listened to what happened on that day, you'd understand that blaming him for anything makes no sense. Or at least listen to what I have to say about him.”

“Are you sure you know what you're talking about, junior? The most dangerous men are the ones that don't seem dangerous at all.”

“I absolutely do. If it wasn't for Sebastian, I'd... I'd...” Ciel looked at me as if he suddenly remembered I was still there, as if he had not been holding onto my hand all the time. He turned scarlet all over. “I don't know how I would've made it without him.” I thought he would let go but instead, his grip tightened. It was the first time I heard him express his appreciation for me in such clear words. I wanted to kiss the boy so badly. “Just give him a chance, will you? I'm sure if you just talk it out, your image of him will change. You can meet somewhere downtown, on neutral grounds, if that's better for you.”

“Ok.”

“Sebastian is – wait, ok?”

“Yes, it's alright. If the writer wants to talk, I'll talk. That's what I originally tried to do, but he avoided me, so I thought there was no point. But I'll give him another chance.”

Ciel's expression lit up and he moved the second hand to the speaker. “Great!”

“Just one thing, I'd like to come to your place instead of meeting somewhere else. I'd like to make sure that you live in a decent home, you see?”

“Yes, of course. Come and convince yourself.”

It worked. Traun would come over on Saturday afternoon and I would present the family friendliest version of myself. Ciel hung up and looked at me with big eyes. He had succeeded, and it had not been nearly as difficult a discussion as anticipated. I finally kissed him for his sweet words about me. _Well, I had to come up with something positive about you, don't pride yourself on that too much_. Then the kiss was just for the good work.

 

Traun arrived thirty-four minutes late. Again, he managed to carry a lot of dirt into the hallway with his shoes, even though it was dry outside. Instead of the formal suit that I first met him in, he wore what I can only describe as rags. Had I not known better, I would have believed him a beggar. Ciel stepped forward to lead the scene. He formally introduced us to each other one more time, made us shake hands and led us to the living room. Traun declined coffee and instead asked for a glass of tap water. While Ciel went to get water for three, Traun and I sat down around the coffee table. He on the sofa, I on a chair, and then, after he put the glasses onto the table, Ciel sat down on another chair.

“Looks like junior here thinks highly of you. Sorry for the last time, maybe we should start over.”

I nodded. “Likewise. I shouldn't have ignored your attempts at contacting me.” The truth was, I was far from sorry for that but I had to be civil.

I told Traun the official story of how Rachel crossed the street without looking, that nobody knew why she did it, and that Ciel and at least one more eye witness could confirm my story. To paint a more likeable picture of myself, I described the suffering that it meant to me to lose the _love of my life_ when I had only just found her, but that I had to be strong for Ciel as now each other was all we had, and I held onto that as much as Ciel did, since the flesh and blood of my late wife was as good as my own, and I loved him like he was my own son. Ciel knew beforehand that I would make these claims and therefore nodded them off confidently when Traun looked at him for confirmation.

“Sebastian has been here for me ever since.”

For what felt like half an hour but must have been closer to about twenty seconds, Traun kept silent. He just swung his stare between Ciel and me. When we turned to each other, he finally began, “I'm sorry, little Phantomhive. I let you down just like I let Vincent down.”

“Eh? It's ok, you were just my father's friend, it wasn't your responsibility to look after me...”

I could swear I saw something crack in the man.

He slowly shook his head. “Still, I'm sorry. You're like family to me. Look at you, looking more like Vincent every day. He'd be so proud of you. I'll always have a job for you if you decide to follow your father's footsteps after all.”

“Thanks, but I really don't think I will.”

Another little thing cracked. I am not sure Ciel noticed. No, he must have noticed. The boy just did not care. “That's too bad. Do you have other plans, then?”

Ciel looked at me, then back at Traun. Ladies and gentlemen, hold your breath, fasten your seatbelts, read carefully. “Actually... Actually, I'm thinking about going to Europe when I'm done with school.”

There! He said it! My rambles bore fruit! When asked by someone he did not trust, Ciel went so far as to consider the option I had laid down for him. On the outside, I kept my cool, while internally, I rejoiced and laughed at the inferior man on the sofa.

Having collected himself together again, Traun replied, “Oh, Europe? Your grandmother was from England, but I'm sure you know that. It's a nice place, it has... weather. And... places. I take it that was the writer's idea?”

Before I could say anything (and I am glad I could not, for my reply would have been a snide one), Ciel explained, “He brought it up first, but that doesn't matter, I wouldn't do anything I don't want. And I'm just thinking about it. I'm only fourteen; I don't know what I really wanna do yet.”

“See? So if you change your mind, you're always welcome at my door or in my office. No pressure, just remember that.”

The conversation topic changed to me, what my current occupation was like and whether I had any plans to write another novel. I explained that it would depend on whether I found the time, since it could be difficult to be a single father, even if the child had half grown up already, and Ciel would always be my priority. Traun seemed content with my answers, and what was there not to be content with? Keeping the scandalous secret was not difficult when the rest of me and my ambitions was picture perfect.

My monologue on the challenges of managing a household while working a full-time job was interrupted when Traun emptied his second glass of water and set out to the bathroom. He took some time and did not want another glass at his return. Ciel continued my defence by elaborating on my valuing a good education for him, and that I was willing to spend good money on it, even though, since I was still a bit tight on cash, it meant that I sometimes had to forego little joys, like the pricier aftershave or going out for dinner. I had never really thought about any of those renunciations for I was content as long as Ciel was there but they surely looked good on my resume. Ciel was visibly healthy and lived in a safe and orderly home. Derek Traun had no reason not to trust me and that was what he told me as well as he finally shook my hand in the evening.

“Mister writer,” I was not sure if his habit of avoiding to address people by their names came from his inability (or unwillingness) to remember them, or if it was just an odd habit of his, “I guess I was a little too quick at judging you, _n'est-ce pas_?”

Where that mockery of my mother tongue came from, I do not know, for he did not copy it from me. I disliked it when someone used unnecessary French phrases to colour an English sentence – whether it be an American, an Englishman, or a Frenchman. Moreover, I do not understand the assumption that well-integrated foreigners whose English vocabulary easily surpasses that of many an English-born man would be in need of slipping easily translatable phrases into their speech. Personally, I knew only one man with a habit of doing so, and he was a Belgian – though I do have to admit that I did not personally know many people of French backgrounds outside of France to begin with.

“I'm glad you changed your mind. I believe that I am capable of providing Ciel with a healthy environment, and if you are still in doubt of that, I'd be happy to welcome you back for another conversation.” That was a blatant lie – I hoped to never see his face again.

“I'd be happy to come over for another conversation under less stressful circumstances, to be honest! And talk more about the little one and his friends.” Great, that meant I would have to invite him again, or his rage might return.

After I finally closed the door behind Traun, Ciel patted me on the shoulder. _Good job, this went way better than expected_. Indeed, all had gone according to plan, and any worries that we previously might have had dissolved into thin air. Traun had left just in time so I could quickly take a shower before the radio show that we liked to listen to on Saturdays would air, and thereby I took note of the only little nuisance of that evening: The bedroom door, that I know I had closed before our guest came, was only leaned on when I went there. Ciel had gone straight back to the living room, so I knew that it must have been Traun who likely stuck his nose into all closed doors he could find on his way to the bathroom and back. It did not matter; the house sported a persona just as perfect as mine. We (that is, the house and I) were always prepared for unexpected guests in unexpected corners of the building. It was merely his discourtesy of intruding private spaces and leaving behind dirty fingerprints like a burglar that bothered me. Upon my entry into the bedroom, I noticed that the curtains had been moved too, as their perfect symmetry on each side of the window had been disturbed. I hoped that Traun found the sight of our shady, secluded backyard entertaining.

We had won. Our enemy had admitted to his defeat at our joint efforts. All that Traun had achieved was strengthen our alliance. Victory was sweet, just as intoxicatingly sweet as Ciel's caramel lips while we listened to the stories on the radio.

We lived on unbothered, Traun was nowhere to be found. Ciel was mildly annoyed at the clash of his midterms and the frequent rehearsals (which he lovingly called _rope dangling_ ) that got in the way of studying. The Christmas festival was set for December 14th, just a week before his school would hold an exam week, and on top of that, his fifteenth birthday; and while he never celebrated it anyway, having to participate in the play instead did not particularly excite him, either. Moreover, the rope construction that held him high in the air was not adjusted correctly during the rehearsal exactly a week before Day X, meaning that it bruised the poor boy on the ribcage below his arms. I remember that evening well. Ciel did not notice the bruises until he undressed to take a shower, of which I was notified by a loud _Oh, come on!_ through the bathroom door. I would not know what he was cursing at until he returned from the shower, just a towel around his hips, arms up his sides in a T-shape, and told me, “I _knew_ it hurt more today than usual!”

I had Ciel sit down on the bed and rubbed the stains with ointment. I did not know if it would really help but it surely would not harm him either: Massaging the bruises with my warm hands felt nice, I could tell from the way Ciel closed his eyes and tilted his head. I did not hurry to finish the job; when I extended my circular movements to pristine skin, he even opened his mouth ever so slightly and I could hear a small sigh. Another, louder sigh followed when I kissed his bare neck, though followed by the instruction not to create yet another bruise. I retreated from Ciel's neck, laid him down onto the mattress and pecked the colourful skin on his torso instead. The boy was so soft. Yes, freshly showered skin is always softer and warmer, but Ciel was soft as a whole. Not only gave the skin on his chest in to my lips just right; his thigh went up and gently guided my hand to its root, where I came to rest so that the boy's protruding pelvic bone fit perfectly between my thumb and the opposing fingers. When my lips wandered downwards, a wave went through his spine; it accelerated my motions.

I settled between Ciel's legs. The boy liked to have me there, though granted, he liked to have me in many places.

“I knew this would happen.” You always liked to point out what a lustful man I was.

“You could've done it yourself; I wouldn't have objected.”

You chuckled. “But where's the fun in that?”

And then I did bruise you after all, though in a place not even the revealing atmosphere of the locker room would uncover my mark.

I loved you very much that night – many, many times. Again and again my name would spill from your mouth and yours from mine as I raped you statutorily. I, too, took away a bruise: When you were sitting in my lap, you held onto my biceps so tightly that one could make out the trace of your thumb long later. Again and again I kissed you, and I knew there was no better taste than that of your mouth. It was the seventh of December, a Wednesday like any other. You were fourteen years, eleven months and twenty-four days old and fell asleep in my arms.

In the third week of December, the day before Ciel's birthday, I found another letter from Derek Traun in the post box. It was different: This time, the sender was specified and it was addressed at me, though there was no postal stamp to be found. I assumed that Traun delivered the letter in person but wanted me to know that he was the sender before I even opened it. I was curious what the matter might be – did not assume it was yet another attempt at harassing us since we had parted on friendly terms. Perhaps it was an invitation to a soirée of some sort? As a wealthy businessman, I could imagine him host the occasional fancy gathering for networking purposes.

I sat down on the sofa with the rest of the mail, my usual procedure. Traun's letter would be the first one to fall victim to the letter opener that afternoon, I decided. I could immediately see that it was another photograph, perhaps another Phantomhive family photo? If it did not have another malevolent note on the backside, I would pass it on to Ciel.

Pictured was not the Phantomhive family. The letter opener escaped my grip; it left behind an ugly scratch on the coffee table.

It was Ciel and I, the boy on my lap, bruised ribcage – both of us naked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't just call Undertaker Undertaker because it would've sounded really out of place to casually call him that instead of a real name. Also, the new name distracted from him, which was convenient for me. One day we'll know his real canonverse name and I'll try not to cringe at my take... haha
> 
> If you liked this chapter, please consider letting me know with a comment, it doesn't matter how short! This was a really REALLY hard chapter to write and I'm all out of energy for the next one but a few encouraging words would make a huge difference.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's almost over. Almost. Please note that I added another chapter to the counter because I split today's update in two! You'll see why it made more sense to split it apart.
> 
> Many many thanks to The_Pied_Avocet for betaing this chapter. I felt all sorts of lost with it but with her help, I think it turned out great.
> 
> I made a playlist on youtube for the last few chapters, maybe you're interested: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLaQ2VZOjgVtNOPswwUVUToTrO4-ey6_aI (The xx's Dangerous is only on youtube as a live version, maybe give the studio version a listen if you can)
> 
> [Art for chapter 23 + 24](http://nighttimeteaparty.tumblr.com/post/174467049058/ciel-a-reimagination-of-vladimir-nabokovs)

I turned the picture around to see a warning in familiar handwriting: “I'll be coming tonight, midnight. You're under surveillance. Try to run and it's over.”

I rushed into the bedroom and shut the curtains. _Why had he left them open in the first place,_ you might wonder. The answer is simple, dear friends and foes. Firstly, I am a hopeless fool. But more importantly, nobody was supposed to be able to see inside – the window faced the garden, and there was no house or street from where one could spy inside. Our only audience should have been the owls and cats and bats, who existed as we did in the dark embrace of night, and saw no fault in our act.

I turned around to inspect the bed, but of course, there was nothing. Tidy as always; if there had ever been a treacherous stain on the sheets that escaped my attention, it was sure to be hidden away by the duvet cover. I turned further, glanced around the entire room – the picture of a perfectly decent middle-class bedroom. Derek Traun had been here, saw all that I could see now, and decided that there were ugly truths to be discovered here. Unless he dug through the drawers, he simply could not know, and I estimated he did not disappear long enough to go that far.

I looked at the photograph one more time. There was no doubt about what it depicted. Or was there? It looked fatal on first glance but was it not possible that the two males of very different ages were but in an innocent embrace, and unclothed just by chance? The bruise looked deceiving; without context, one might have assumed that I was the one to have inflicted it, when it had been, in fact, the ropes at school. So was it not possible that there were other explanations for what looked like a downright disaster? I could not think of any.

I staggered out into the hallway. There hung the portrait of a woman clad in black at its end. I had never paid much attention to it; it was just another prop on the stage that Ciel and I played father and son on; decent on first glance, but when one took a closer look, its many flaws gave away the artist's inexperience. Only once had Ciel commented that the picture reminded him of Mrs. Midford, and indeed, they shared a certain strictness in their eyes, Midford and this clumsily painted widow. So strict did she stare me down now that I knew that _she knew too_. The longer I returned her look, the deeper she wrinkled her brow. What happened behind closed doors was a secret no more – the hag knew, she saw, she sickened at my sight, and I sickened at the thought of her judgment. I walked up to the painting, tore it off the wall and smashed it to the ground. I would not have any of her disgust. Who was she to judge me?

I could not stand the eyes anymore. All of the eyes in this house, whether they were the governor's on the newspaper’s front page, or those of a stuffed rabbit that Ciel had won at a parish fair last summer, or the photographs of the Phantomhives. They had no right to look at me that way, no right to judge me, and so I dashed through the house and got rid of their glares: Threw away the newspaper, turned around the rabbit and the photographs, and then I closed the other curtains, all of them, every single one. Finally, I was alone again, all alone. Not even Ciel was there. Ciel. My Ciel. I felt my mind short circuit, and I shut down. My knees gave in to the weight of my bones, and I sank to the ground in the middle of the anteroom. Out of order. Don't touch the broken jukebox; the only tune it will play is Take Him From Me And I'll Die.

“Hey, what's wrong with you?”

I do not remember how long I sat there, but it took Ciel's voice and his hand on my shoulder for me to return to my senses. I turned around to see his face – black smudges in the corners of his eyes and smears of light fuchsia that distorted the natural tint of his cheeks; the remainders of his stage makeup. I stood up, took him by the hand...

“Sebastian? Hey, answer me!”

...and to the bathroom, where I took a handkerchief...

“Hello! I'm talking to you!”

...spit on it and smeared the cosmetics away.

“Okay, I guess I was a bit sloppy with removing the makeup, but what the hell's your problem?!”

I cupped Ciel's face and leaned my forehead against his. I felt a need I had not felt since childhood: tears were urging to be shed, yet I bit down on my lip to keep them from spilling. I could not speak, though I did not know what to say anyway. Instead, I sank to the ground once again, pulled Ciel down with me, onto my goddamn lap, and held him tight. Confinement was not what I feared, per se; my sole sorrow lay in the thought that losing my freedom meant losing the boy in my arms. Ciel had no idea what was going on, but he took the hint and returned the embrace with all of his force; he knotted his fingers into the hair in my neck, and his thin arms clutched me so hard, I thought we might merge. I finally understood what it feels like to need an embrace, and it was at the cost of us.

Ciel did not press me for an answer anymore. Instead, he just combed through my hair, like I did when I comforted him. I was awful. This was not the position I was supposed to take. I was there to be his strength, not vice versa. Especially not in a case that would affect us both equally. I owed him the information on what had happened to unsettle me like this, and then needed to comfort him instead, for I knew that he would need to be comforted, but I simply did not know how to put myself together again and do it, and so I let myself be held by him, the boy that I loved, the boy that I ruined.

With all my might, I finally produced speech. “...I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”

Ciel still held onto me tightly. “What is it? What happened?”

I produced the photograph from my pocket. Ciel broke the embrace to take it.

He took a few moments to process what he saw and then turned pale. “What... What is this... Sebastian... is this... Please tell me this has to do with your weird tastes... Did... Did you find out how to use the camera? Are you trying to scare me? Haha...” Ciel looked at me again and knew that I was not. He turned the photograph around. “This handwriting... No... Impossible... He can't... Why...?”

I was unable to give him an answer.

Ciel clutched my forearm to steady himself before he examined the picture again. “This is impossible. Impossible! That's from outside of the bedroom, isn't it? Nobody can be there. It's private property. He'd have to break into the garden to take a picture like this. Why would he... He had no reason... I thought he'd finally leave us alone... I thought he'd...!” His hand went limp, the photograph slipped away.

I took his soft hand and squeezed it with my rough one.

“I don't understand this... Why... Why would he do that... Everything was fine, he said so too, there was no reason not to believe so... He saw our home, there's nothing wrong here... Say something, Sebastian, please...”

“I think... I think he never wanted to give me a chance in the first place. He only came to find out what rooms to observe.”

Ciel clutched my jumper so tightly, his fingers dug through the fibres. He trembled. “There's something off. Why... Why would he send us this picture instead of going straight to the police?”

That had come to my attention as well. Traun had solid proof against me and decided not to take it to the authorities. This man was not interested in justice. Derek Traun was no good man. I said nothing; I wanted to hear Ciel's thoughts first.

“He's planning to use this for leverage because he wants something,” Ciel deduced, frowning.

“Or somebody,” I added.

“Or somebody… Maybe if I tell him that I'll follow father's example, he'll leave you be. Maybe he'll be content with that.” Ciel looked at me with big eyes, desperate for confirmation.

“I doubt it.” I just could not lie to him.

“No, maybe he'll be content with that. I'll sign everything he wants, I'll make _you_ sign everything he wants, to reassure him that I'll work for him someday, or whatever else he wants, because it doesn't matter anyway, as soon as I graduate, we'll just disappear, won't we? We'll go to England, then to France, because that's what we always talked about and that's what'll happen, because it's impossible that you'll leave me, because you said you wouldn't and I believed you, and because it's all too sudden, isn't it?”

I did not reply; I only laid my forehead onto his again and closed my eyes. I could not bear to say no. I knew there was no way out, and yet I could not bring myself to crush the boy's weak hopes. I felt a droplet on the hand that I held his with, then another one, but I did not open my eyes; instead, I just pulled him closer. Ciel sobbed into the bend of my neck. It was the third time I had ever witnessed him cry.

Thick saliva clogged his mouth and my pullover muffled his voice when he said, “It's unfair. Too unfair. You said you'd never leave me, and I believed you.”

“I'm sorry.” _I didn't mean to lie to you._

Ciel's grip on me hardened; his fingers pierced into my flesh. “I told you what I... what I'd do if you left me too... _hick_ ...I told you, didn't I?”

“No. Don't.”

“If you go, I'll kill you, and I'll kill myself too.”

“No, Ciel, you won't.”

“You liar; you said you wanted me to kill you. You coward, you goddamn coward! If we can't live together, why don't you just wanna die together? Don't you [a word that was hard to comprehend] me anymore...?”

“I always will.”

“Say it... say it out loud...”

“Do you mean it?” He had never wanted to hear it before.

“Yes... say it...”

“I [a word only audible for Ciel] you.”

“Then why don't you wanna...”

“Because you're hysterical, and I've changed my mind, and if there's only one thing I can do at this point, it's make sure you live.”

Ciel whimpered. “I hate you...”

“I know.”

Ciel wept in my arms. He cried so much that he drenched my shoulder, and he only stopped when there was no strength left in his delicate body to keep his limbs up and the tears flowing. Scenes of May two years earlier, of Ciel crying all his strength away at the sight of his mother on the pavement, played in front of my eyes. The cold bathroom floor was no place to stay. I picked myself up and Ciel with me. The boy was heavier than two years ago, but just as limp.

“Do you trust me, Ciel?”

He did not reply.

“I'll make the best of this disaster, you'll see. And in the end, you'll be fine again.”

“I've changed my mind too... I do trust you.” With the little strength he had left, Ciel squeezed me. “But I don't believe you.”

Ciel's stomach grumbled, and I realised he had not eaten yet. Neither had I, though that I did not particularly care about.

I was unsure how to proceed; Ciel would be fine again, would he not? For that, he had to eat. I hated to let go of him when he was so weak and needed me so very much, and I needed him too, but the boy had finally stopped crying, and I just could not carry him while fumbling with dinner. Macaroni and cheese, it was. I disliked the dish; it was bland, plain, and, more than anything, sticky; but it was simple, comfortable, and Ciel would eat it. Or at least I hoped he would.

As per his wish, we dined on the couch in the living room, where we could lean against each other. Ciel stirred, poked, and did everything but eat the creamy yellow stodge at his hands. Then he put the plate away, next to the unopened letters, the letter opener, and the scratch.

“You have to eat,” I scolded him.

“I can't,” he mumbled.

“Even I can and I hate this.”

“Not my problem. I don't care about eating right now.”

“Well, I care if you do.” I dipped the fork into my noodles, loaded it, and extended it to Ciel's mouth.

He folded his arms. “Cut it out, I'm not a baby,” he said with a pout. He did not realise how infantile he looked that way.

I suppressed a chuckle and tried to sound serious but my voice carried the truth across. “Eat or the mac and cheese will fall off the fork and land on your legs,”

At once, Ciel seemed to notice his childish mannerism and my amusement over it. He could not help but snicker at himself. “Are you threatening me?”

I tilted the fork ever so slightly. “Yes. Don't test me.”

Ciel rolled his eyes and snatched the noodles away with his mouth. He chewed, his eyes widened, he realised how hungry he really was. Glazed eyes and wet mouth, he considered the content of the plate that I held.

“You have your own serving.”

“I know, but you've eaten half of it already, that's about right for me... I'll eat, but let's trade.”

It made little sense to me, because he might as well have just eaten as much as he could from _his_ plate, but I handed him my noodles, he snatched the fork from me too, and I took his plate ins–

Why am I telling you this nonsense about dinner?

I know why. These were the final hours, our last supper. No biblical allegories intended. Time is running out. Make the best of it. Feign normalcy. It started to snow. This is, in part, a metaphor, the crisp white innocence of the moment and such. But it is also true, it really did snow that night.

Light in the room was scarce. The only lamp that was turned on shone down upon the sofa. All that was illuminated was he and I; his hands, my sleeves, his shoulders, my nose, his hair. Empty plates faced faces just as empty. A suffocating silence. Seconds, minutes wasted. It was no use; I had claimed I would make the best of the situation, so why give in to this despair and be silent when there was so much left to say?

“Is there something you've always wanted to know about me?” I asked.

Ciel looked up from his plate and turned to me. “What do you mean? Something in particular?”

“No, anything. Maybe there's something that you've always wanted to know but never asked.”

He put his plate on the table, pulled his feet up onto the seat and wrapped his arms around his knees. “Anything?”

“Anything.”

Ciel looked away. “How...” He bit his cheek. “How many have you had before me?”

I had said _anything_ but I had not expected a question like that. Now I needed a second or two to brace myself. “By that, do you mean lovers? Or _child_ lovers?”

“The latter,” The boy mumbled into his arms.

I put my plate on the table too, leaned back and laced my fingers in my lap. “Including the time I was still a schoolboy myself?”

“No, that doesn't count.”

“How would you feel if I told you that you're the first?” _And last._

“I wouldn't believe you.”

“But it's true.”

“...”

I realised I had to elaborate on that. “I held back on my desires, although I did so mostly out of selfishness, not compassion, or decency.”

Ciel peered at me. This tone of explanation seemed to sound more believable to him.

“I knew the consequences _for me_ could be grave, and I never wanted to have to deal with them just because I couldn't keep my hands to myself. I looked for other outlets instead. That's how simple it is. Do you believe me now?”

“Yeah...”

“Are you relieved?”

“...”

“Or does it bother you that I had to break down in yours of all cases?”

“No! That's not it. I guess... I guess I'm relieved, yeah...”

 _Relieved that no other children were harmed in the production of this motion picture? Relieved that he was as special as he had always hoped to be?_ I kept those assumptions to myself.

Ciel continued, “Can I ask you one more thing?”

“Of course.”

“Did you have a happy childhood?”

“Hmm.” Did I? I had never thought about it. There was nothing to complain about. I had often been pitied for being a half-orphan but I had never learned to know my mother, so I did not miss her. It is much worse, I imagine, to have loved a mother and lose her, than to have never known her at all. “Yes, I suppose. It was uneventful. I can't complain.”

“But weren't you lonely when you were sent abroad?”

“I've told you before, haven't I? I'm a natural loner.”

Ciel gave me a skeptical look.

“Well, maybe a little, in the beginning. But boarding school is the same for everyone, it doesn't matter much whether you’re from Norfolk or Île-de-France. Are you sorry for me?”

“Hell, no. I'm just curious. I think I would've thrown a fit if I'd been sent away at that age.”

I ruffled his hair. “Your mother would've never let you go.”

Ciel laid down on my lap. “No, she wouldn't have.”

I petted him like a kitten.

Again silence, though this time, it was comfortable. It felt close to how it always did. Almost forgotten was later, the uncertainty of what was to come; the only thing that mattered was now. Until the clock struck.

“What's the time?” Ciel asked. “I didn't count.”

“Nine. Three hours to go.”

“Tell me more about your childhood.”

I had to think a little about it. What was there of interest? Ah. “I was a pretty good fag.”

“A what, now.”

Just for a moment, I could not suppress a broad grin. I was glad he could not see me from down there. “A fag.”

Ciel sat up to look at me. He narrowed his eyes. “Is that the first thing you can think of? Really?”

“Why not? I was very proud of my skills. My fag-master always complimented me.”

“Your fag-what... Sebastian, what the hell? I mean, I remember what you told me about growing up at boarding school, but sadomasochism too?”

I pinched his nose. “No, you naughty American boy, it's not what you think it is. I was great at cooking, making tea, doing laundry. Those kinds of things. A fag is a young student that acts as a servant to older boys, and a fag-master watches over his fags in return. That's how we do it in Good Ol' Great Britain. Haven't you ever heard that term?”

“Oh... oh! That explains a lot. I read it somewhere once and it left me confused, to say the least.”

Instead of further teasing him, I proceeded to tell Ciel stories of my distant childhood that he had never heard, that I had not thought of for a long while. I told him of my favourite dish until the age of five (aligot, dipped with an éclair, absolutely disgusting, how could my nurse let me eat any such thing), of the teachers that I liked and disliked, of a stray cat that sometimes found its way into my dorm room as if by magic and certainly not because I carried it inside, and of what I dreamed of doing when I would grow up. Ciel found comfort in these stories. The abominable man that had destroyed his mother and loved him so much, the monster that he needed... it was just another human after all.

After my childhood and youth, Ciel wanted to know more about the places I lived in. Cityscapes that looked nothing like anything he had ever seen, how they changed with the war, and after the war, and what my daily routine was like, and the many listless affairs that I had, and how I ended up marrying a woman I felt neither love nor lust for, hoping at least the latter would arise with time. I skipped the years Forty-Seven to Fifty-Two, and then Ciel turned eighteen, and went to see these places himself. And then, perhaps at twenty-four, he was an accomplished gentleman but always my boy, and I was forty-nine, and we lived in the flat that my late father had left behind. In Europe, Ciel added, he would then finally taste red wine, for he needed to know if its flavour lived up to its pretty ruby shine, though I suggested that under my supervision he could have taken a sip anytime, since we Frenchmen do not take underage drinking as seriously when done in moderation, and I’d myself had my first taste when I could barely read. Ciel chuckled and told me that that fit perfectly into his picture of me.

 _Don't give up; I believe we'll find a way out of this disaster,_ he told me. Soon after, he fell asleep on my shoulder.

I watched the boy sleep, listened to him breathe. For him, I was so full of tenderness – throbbing, aching tenderness – that it strangled my guts, crawled its way up through the stomach, made a detour to fill my lungs before it climbed my throat and did not spill for the sole reason that I covered my mouth. Naïve, innocent, starry-eyed was he. The boy that had lost almost everything, the angry, gentle little imp that was not so little anymore, he still hoped, for hope was all he had. I could not even do that, and so all that was left for me was to watch. Watch his chest rise and drop, the rest of him still. Observe his appearance to burn it into my memory. Over the years, his features had changed. The roundness of Ciel's cheeks receded and left place for a more clearly defined jawline, and his brow followed suit. What had not changed was the graceful curve of his cupid's bow, the milky aspect of the skin on his wrist that peeked out from the sleeve, the large, crystal-clear eyes that he so softly kept closed when he slept, and the full, dark lashes that adorned them. The boy must have had all the girls swoon over him, though I doubt he realised that much. At midnight, Ciel would be fifteen years old; not a child anymore, yet no adult either. He had his life ahead of him.

I made my decision then. Ciel was strong. He had overcome the loss of brother, father and mother – three people he never thought he could live without. He could do it one more time.

Ciel awoke from the doorbell. It was ten past twelve. I was anxious. I shook. I cannot remember ever shaking from anxiety before.

I stood up, but Ciel held me back. He looked down. “Don't.”

“It can't be helped.”

He shook his head. “No. Let me do the talking. You have no chance to be listened to. And this is about me as much as it is about you; I want my voice to be heard, and I want to express that I'll always choose you, no matter what.” Ciel looked up and fixated me. “That I'll follow you to hell.”

I hoped he would not go that final extra mile, but I considered his plea. The doorbell rang again. I said yes.

I went to open the door, Ciel following close behind. Derek Traun entered the scene. Formal attire, old shoes but crisp white shirt, dressed to kill.

Traun swung a little parcel around. “Hello there, birthday boy! What a joyful day it is, isn't it! I have a little something for you. Happy birthday.”

Ciel glanced at the present. He did not attempt to take it, only curled his upper lip in disgust. “What do you want?”

Traun' shoulders dropped and he pouted as he realised that his gift would not be accepted. He put the object, whatever it was, on a nearby dresser instead. “Look, I'm not here to make a scene, but I discovered something urgent, didn't I?” Instead of waiting for a reply, he marched straight into the living room. Ciel and I rushed after him.

Ciel straightened, breathing in and clenching his fists. “You never planned to give Sebastian a chance, did you?” He spoke in loud and clear words; a little too loud to appear confident.

“No, little Phantomhive, no... I never did.” Traun’s mockingly sympathetic tone annoyed me. “I knew that there was something off. And do you know why?”

“I have no idea, because there simply wasn't anything.”

“Of course there was, but you probably don't know that I knew. I've known of Michaelis’s violent nature from the very first time I saw you two together, but I have to admit, I had no idea how far his violence went...”

Gone was Ciel’s initial nervousness, and in its stead came anger. “I don't understand a single word you're saying. Sebastian isn't violent.”

“Let me tell you a story, little boy. It's not a funny one, sadly, as I prefer funny stories. Two and a half years ago, I received terrible news: Rachel Phantomhive had died and left behind a son and husband. You're not surprised to hear that I was shocked, are you? A stranger appeared in her life, replaced Vincent only weeks later, and not even a year after, she dies? And instead of looking for someone better to care of you and going back to where he came from, he takes over your guardianship? What does he plan to do?” Traun crossed his arms and feigned contemplation.

“Are you telling me that there's something off with wanting to take care of me just for the sake of caring for me?” Ciel trembled with anger, and understandably so. After years of existing for the sake of others, he had only just learned to embrace that he was worth existing for himself too. To question his value meant to question his growth.

“No, no. That's why I'm here, after all. I'm just saying that no normal man would be interested in a child that he didn't father, you know? One that just came with the marriage package, and that he only knew for a short time. That's not how it works.”

I had to chime in; I could not leave it at that. “So you would've thought it more normal if I had disappeared and left an orphan to himself? Are you suggesting it's normal to care more deeply about a woman that one has only known for about a year than a child?”

“Yes. That's just how it is in this world. And wasn't I right, after all? My first thought was, of course, that you hoped to profit from Mrs. Phantomhive's widow pension, or the boy's fund, as soon as it became available. I dropped all obligations and went to look for and take care of you, little Phantomhive, as quickly as I could, but I saw something horrible when I finally arrived in Ramsdale. That man, and you, my boy, and your black eye. I was shocked. I knew all along that there was something fishy about this story, and that was my confirmation.” He frowned. “From then I knew that he abused you, but I had no idea how far he went. I hesitated to approach you right away... but I hesitated too long, and gone you were. You poor thing.”

“Have you considered only once,” Ciel spoke slowly, “that maybe, possibly, I was a thirteen-year-old, and thirteen-year-olds get into fights with other thirteen-year-olds sometimes? Because that's _exactly_ what happened, and you built your whole stupid prejudice on top of an assumption so far-fetched that I can hardly imagine anybody but you would convince himself of it.”

Traun shrugged. “Even if that's true, it doesn't matter since I was right in the end. It lead me onto the right track, and now I have plenty of proof of the writer's violence. We can clearly see the bruises on you in the picture - let alone the other forms of abuse that it proves!”

“Once again, what you see isn't what you think it is. If anyone's at fault for those bruises, it's _you_ , Undertaker. I got those bruises from the ropes holding me up in the stupid Christmas play - the one that _you’re_ funding.”

Traun sighed and raised his arms in a W-shape. “Still doesn't matter. What I have no doubt about is all the rest. And I'm shocked to see that you won't take my hand, even when I go to such lengths to reach out. It only goes to show how badly that devil of a man's messed with you and your head.”

“Have you had us under surveillance all this time?” I interrupted. “I think it’s safe to assume that your presence at the hotel last year wasn’t a coincidence, was it?”

“No, you’re wrong. I did look for you in Ramsdale and I found you there, but I hesitated to confront you right away; I needed to think up a plan that would be good for the boy, for his safety. When I finally came up with something, though, you two had already slipped away. But your neighbours told me of the lovely family that you left in charge of the property. Middleford, I think?”

“Midford.”

“Ah, yes. Anyway, Mrs. Midford didn't seem too excited about telling me where you went to, but her husband let me know that you'd only just left and where I could find you if I was quick. Et voilà, I did find you! But I hesitated and lost you. Again. It wasn't until you began to take the boy's money that I was able to locate you once and for all. I only waited for that to happen – after all, I was still convinced that the money was what you were after. When you settled down, I knew that was at last my chance to act. It wasn't until I visited you that I hired a PI to observe you two... but I guess you've figured that much out already.”

I cannot express how much I regretted having lived on credit. If only I had spent a little less on dinners, or chosen more motels over downtown hotels, we might have made it to Weston entirely on my own money. We would not have been found again. But dwelling on mistakes did not help me now. “So then what was the purpose in funding the Christmas festival? There was no way you could’ve been sure that Ciel would actively participate in it, and he wouldn't have, if it hadn't been for his friend that left him no choice. What was your intention?”

“Uh, fun, I guess? Festivals are fun, aren't they? And you can be sure I laughed out loud when I saw grumpy-pants up in the air, glaring down at everyone that was allowed to stand on their own two feet. Also, I wanted to catch the Phantomhive boy at school and not at home, but I didn't yet know which school he attended, and with a little bit of my money in everyone's funds, and promises of more if I found who I was looking for, it was easy to get access to the student records of nearly every school in the district. I'd actually already started searching them for his name, but then I stumbled over the grumpy angel by chance and saved myself the effort. Makes sense?”

So it did not matter whether Ciel participated or not; Traun would likely have found him sooner or later anyway. I crossed my arms. “You went to all that trouble over a vague feeling that I was robbing and beating my stepson, without any real evidence to support your suspicions? You have to admit that you don’t sound particularly trustworthy yourself. You only just told us that there’s no reason for a man to want to take care of a minor he isn’t related to. At the same time, you obsess over Ciel’s life so much that you’ve taken enormous financial efforts just to find him. What’s more, you’ve also put aside the work you’re so proud of - you, the CEO. And the moment you have proof against me in your hands, instead of taking it straight to the police, you come here with it, perhaps because you know that with the police’s intervention, you still wouldn’t win Ciel over. You contradict yourself. You act like a great benefactor, but the truth is that you just want things to go your way, isn’t it?”

Traun laughed. “No, no, no, you’ve got it all wrong. Of course, someone like you wouldn’t understand. But I would’ve at least expected a _thank you_ for not selling you out. All I want is the best possible solution for all of us, but most importantly, for the boy. And I know that I’m the one that’s best suited to ensure his wellbeing, since I’ve known him for so long.”

Ciel crossed his arms too. “What makes you think you know me at all? We're practically strangers.”

Traun smiled. “You probably feel that way because it's been so long, but I know everything about you. Everything that matters. Your father told me plenty, and you're just like him. I knew it immediately when I saw you again, for the first time in years. That's why I’m asking you to come with me. We can leave all of this behind; you’re struggling to let go, and I understand that: a familiar evil seems less frightening than a new opportunity. And it seems you got so used to your familiar evil that you now feel like it's no evil at all. But if it helps you part, if you don't wanna leave your friends behind, I'm sure we can arrange something too! This way, you don't have to feel bad about living with me, and you'll be safe and sound, and you'll grow into a man just as impressive as your father. All I ask for in return is a good laugh here or there, wouldn't that be great?”

“Father, father, father,” Ciel complained, “You always go on and on about father, you've always done so, your fixation on him is abnormal, and I'm not him. You need to learn to accept that he's gone!”

“Never!” He had seemed somewhat relaxed until now, but all of a sudden Traun became loud. “There should've been a way to save him. There _must've_ been something. Why didn't anybody do anything? Why couldn't _I_?”

For a moment, there was dead silence.

Then Ciel spoke. “There... There wasn't anything we could've done... It was a sudden natural death. Nobody saw it coming.”

“No, _I_ should've seen it coming, since it's happened before. It seems to run in your family. Your grandma suffered the same fate.”

“What?” Apparently, Ciel was hearing this for the first time.

“Didn't you know? Claudia... She was the first one I couldn't save.” Traun seemed to fight with tears. How pathetic, I thought. At a different time, the melodrama he staged might have promised to be entertaining.

“What... What kind of relationship did you have to my grandmother, anyway?”

Traun cackled. The moods of this man. “Hahaha, of course you wouldn't understand! Goes to show that you just can't grasp these things well enough yet.”

“Don't tell me you were in love with her.”

“Maaadly.”

Ciel huffed. “Now, that's just plain ridiculous, listen to yourself. Next thing you're gonna tell me is that she had an affair with you.”

“No, she never returned my feelings. To Claudia, I was always something like a little brother, I think. Family, definitely.“ He sighed. “It was okay, and I was really happy for her when she married your grandpa. He was a fine man, he really was. We went to war at about the same time, the first one I mean. I learned a lot in that time, but your grandfather... if he did learn anything, it didn't help him, because unlike me, he didn't return. It was sad.” Traun did not sound particularly sympathetic. “Your grandma was all alone with little Vincent. Doesn't that sound familiar?“

Ciel did not grant him a reply.

Traun did not mind his dismissiveness. “It does, doesn't it? But your grandma was amazing. I offered her my help, but she said she didn't need it, and for a while, that was true. She made taking care of her little boy and managing the household look effortless. She inspired me to work hard on my own behalf, and so I founded my company. I was lucky, I had made a few powerful friends during the war that helped me in the beginning. It was a great time for all of us. For me, for Claudia, and for your daddy too. But then one day, she collapsed. Vincent was hardly older than you are now. Just a boy. It was the same sickness that your dad had. I promised Claudia on her deathbed that I'd take care of him, and that's what I did.”

“But that doesn't change anything about what you said!” Ciel shouted. “You chose to take care of a minor that you weren't related to, that's exactly what made you so suspicious of Sebastian! Just listen to yourself for once!”

Traun snorted. “But our relationship, it was entirely different. Little Vincent used to call me ‘uncle’ when he was a toddler. Did you know that I was the first one after your grandma and grandpa that held your daddy in his arms as a baby? Well, except for the midwife, of course. He was such a sweet and energetic child, and smart too. A little sunshine. Even after his father died, he kept that radiance. He had your grandma's strength. And he took the hand that I offered him, and he made the best of it. Vincent was just seventeen when he started working for me, but he was such a charismatic young man, he could wrap just about everyone around his finger. With his help, my modest little company soon turned into a huge player. I'm sure you could do it too. You're a smart boy, like him.”

“Ugh, see, you don't know anything about me. I might be kinda smart, but that's about it when it comes to our shared strengths. I'm not as cheerful, nor as extroverted as he was.”

“But that's because you can't thrive in your current situation, isn't that obvious? Vincent was always so lively and relaxed, and that's because he had good attachment figures. I'm sure you'd be the same if it weren't for _him_.” His tone when he spoke of me was unnecessarily deprecative.

“Hah! You know what? I think I actually _could_ do a good job if I _wanted_ to. But not because I'm like Father in any way, but because of what makes me _me_. But that's what you don't see.”

Traun opened his arms. “Then prove it to me, I'd love to see you do well! I believe in you. And I'll take care of you, and I won't let you have the same fate. Not another Phantomhive. You'll be so happy in your father's place!”

“You're crazy, Undertaker. Absolutely crazy. I'm not your new puppy that you'll do better with after the first two died on you. Father's dead. Deceased. Gone forever. So is grandmother. They won't come back, no matter what you do, and I am not my father. Grandmother may have trusted you, and Father too, but I don't know you. I don't care about you. I am my own person, with my own wishes. Thanks for what you've done for my family, but leave me alone and get over father's death. I got over it too.”

“How can you say something so horrible just like that... I'm really the only person left that cares about Vincent, aren't I? Your mother forgot about him, and it seems she made you forget about him too. And it all seems to boil down to this stranger here.”

“ _You're_ the stranger! Accept it, there wasn't anything you could've done for either Grandmother, or Father! And you won't make up for it with me. Leave me alone. If I didn't wanna be with Sebastian anymore, I'd go anywhere but to you!”

Traun's mien darkened. “You stupid little boy. You really don't want to be rescued, do you?”

“Finally you get it! You said that you never trusted Sebastian because his actions weren't normal, but breaking news, nobody in this room is normal. You may think that Sebastian is a despicable pervert, but if you think so, you have to think the same of me. He's never forced me to do anything, ever. I want him to touch me, I _make_ him touch me, that's right, I initiate it myself. It's just sex. It feels good. Adults have it all the time, so I don't see why it should harm me; neither of us can get pregnant, and nobody has ever died from feeling good. And don't come at me with any God-related arguments, because I don't wanna hear any from a man that makes a living by providing supplies for killing people.”

“You're a silly little teenager, you don't understand the consequences, that's obvious. This isn't just about _feeling good_ ; it's about the emotional consequences and dependence that a child can't understand, which I can see in you: he's completely brainwashed you. This is no way to be happy.”

“What is a correct way to be happy, then? Play father's substitute for you? Do you know the difference between you and Sebastian? You've both fetishised me but only one of you has left me the option of personal freedom, and it's certainly not you.”

Traun walked up to Ciel. He looked like he wanted to hit the boy, so I stepped in between. He retreated. “Of course I'll leave you personal freedom, but only a healthy one. You can marry a nice girl and and have a family, and provide for it with my help. You'll be so well off. Doesn't that sound great?”

“That's your wish, not mine.”

“No, no, it's everyone's wish, or at least everyone that's normal. You'll understand it too when you grow up.”

“You can't be argued with, you maniac.”

“That's my line. I see you're beyond reason. In this case, I have no choice but to take you with me by force and file a police report after all. When you don't have him anymore, you've got no choice but to come to your senses. Sometimes, children have to be forced to do what's good for them.”

Traun reached out for Ciel's arm, but I would not let him touch the boy. He punched me in the eye instead. The man was surprisingly fast for his alleged age. I had had enough of holding back; this was my time to intervene. I grabbed his arms to lock his movements. “I might rot in jail forever, for all I care, but I won't let _you_ , of all people, play your game with Ciel.”

Traun tripped me up and I stumbled, though I caught his leg and held him back from touching Ciel. _Run_ , I shouted, _run away_ , but Ciel did not listen. He just stepped back, and back, and back, until he bumped against the chest of drawers with the Phantomhive family photographs on top.

I pulled myself up on Traun’s trousers. He turned around and grabbed my neck; choking me, we both fell down.

He was strong, terribly strong. “Honestly, I’ve had it with you. You make me sick,” he growled.

I was in no good position to resist. My vision blurred and I panicked; I felt my consciousness fade, my strength too, I stopped struggling, he felt me go limp, finally let go… then up into Traun’s crotch my knee went. He whined at the impact and I could slip away.

That was my chance. I was absolutely sure that I would pull through; it was the best way out, and although it would harm Ciel now, it would benefit him on the long run.

I crawled to the coffee table; Traun started towards Ciel again but I dragged him with me instead. I reached the table, grabbed for something, where was it, found it, the letter opener, Traun pulled me away, I turned around and stabbed him in the back.

He fell.

There it was, my perfect way out. To kill a man that was disposable.

It was true, I had fetishised Ciel, I always had. My love for him was an elaborate lie that I told him, myself, but mostly you, dear ladies and gentlemen of the jury. I do wonder whether I have convinced at least one jurywoman or -man of the authenticity of these feelings. I am almost sure I have; it does not take a dimwit to fall victim to my sweet words of manipulation; all it takes is a little bit of naïveté, as Ciel has exemplified. You do not believe me now? Just turn back to page one and read again. The change of character that I have suggested did not occur; I started to write the first page in confinement and I will finish the last one in the same manner, only weeks apart. Read my early words; they are mine, not those of a man who ceased to exist. I will always be a lustful man, desire sweet faunlet flesh, but Ciel was a faunlet no more. There was still appeal in him, that I do not deny, but it was a mere matter of months until I would grow tired of his changing appearance. But how to rid myself of him? The answer was easy, thanks to Derek Traun. If one thing I have said is true, it is that by indulging in this boy's youth and thereby corrupting it, I fulfilled my most basic needs, the desire of my life. I had the greatest, most sinful joy one can have in this world by defiling the innocence of a child for years. I am pleased with that. That is really all I wanted. Kill me now, it will be for the best of everyone. I will die a happy rapist, the state will not have to fund another lawsuit against me, and Ciel will finally be free.

Yes, do it for Ciel's sake: kill me now or never. Do not wait; he will not be able to let go of me. He trusts me too much. The boy does trust me, and he possibly loves me. Had I not killed a man, I would have been arrested for the crimes I committed on Ciel, and that was not an option. I know this boy, I know him quite well now, and I know that he would wait. He would throw away his future and do nothing but wait for my release, and for what? A man that is no longer interested in him. Even with a life sentence, he might hope for me to be released someday, or just not want to move on, and stay close forever, just so he can visit me occasionally. Me, his rapist. He will throw away his entire life for me, this silly boy. I know he will. He told me so. You have the choice, ladies and gentlemen. Kill me now, make the boy grieve briefly once again, then get over me and finally be free. This is my confession. I make it easy for you. I take all responsibility for this particular crime I am charged with.

 _Let go, let go,_ cried Ciel. Yes, it was then that the earwitness heard him scream his lungs out. The enemy lay on the floor. Dead silence, except for Traun's coughing and gurgling. Fine splatters of blood sprayed his face crimson. Attempts at producing language ended in choked convulsions. I had been lucky; the knife had pierced right in between his ribs, torn through the muscles and hit his lungs. Ciel sank to his knees and pressed his hands onto the wound, but to no avail: The red fluid spread through his lungs and slowly suffocated him from inside. All that Ciel managed to do was stain himself dark red.

I have been asked why I called for both the police and an ambulance when it had been my plan to murder Traun all along. The reason is simple: Ciel urged me to. On his knees, horrified, trying to save the man that was beyond rescue, he begged me to call for help. I have stated that Ciel was starting to lose his appeal to me, but I was still charmed enough by the boy that I could not say no to a wish so desperate. I hoped the man would die, but I could not deny the boy his plea.

Some have suggested that it is unlikely that I could inflict Traun's wound from the position that I described, but I can assure you that in extraordinary circumstances, extraordinary things can happen. That is the truth, the absolute truth, and what would be the other option, anyway? What other truth would you rather believe?

After my telephone call, I knelt down to Ciel and took over in pressing on Traun's wound. Hot, both the fluid that oozed from the wound and Ciel's tears on my face. He climbed onto my lap and embraced me, the bloody little fool, he embraced a murderer, would you believe it? The boy held onto me tightly, his cheek against mine, and with the hand that I did not need for my latest victim, I pressed him to me. On top of me, he fell to pieces. This was the end. There was no way out. This he knew. _Grieve for me now, my boy. Get over me later. Gather up your pieces and become whole again._ I whispered nice things into his ear, attempts to calm him down, but the boy just sobbed into my neck and told me that he would never give up on me, that I would not get capital punishment, and he would stay close and come to see me until he or I died. I did not grant him a reaction to that terrible plan, but gave him instructions instead: on where to find important papers, where to go for help, not to blame himself, and that I shall be happy if he hated me.

Ciel held onto me still when the doorbell rang once again. He held onto me when the door was forcefully opened and police and paramedics stormed into the living room at the same time; would not even let go when they saw the bloody man on the ground and us next to him, my hand still on Traun, the other around the boy’s slender waist. Ciel still on my lap, clutching me, I explained to the officer what I had done. Ciel called me a liar, but it was in response to something I had whispered to him just earlier, though I will not disclose the nature of those words; it was not in reply to my confession, as the paramedic thought. Again, Ciel sobbed, the poor boy sobbed, he knew I would go. I knew I would disappear, with the lingering sensation of his tears on my cheek and neck I would perish, and Ciel, I hoped, would heal.

If there is one belief I hold onto, it is that from the moment Ciel was born, I was meant to be with him – like an ugly, malignant deformation at birth. A child born into this world with a disposition for cancer – it would not manifest for years, and neither the parents nor the child were to blame for the tumour's degenerate cells. Birth defects just happen. Cut the tumour out, doctor. Try to save the child. Maybe there is hope.

I do not know much about what happened then. Ciel was pulled away from me and I was pulled out of his life, forever. I reckon that Ciel did not appear in the play later that day, and there was no arch angel to watch over the holy newborn. Perhaps the festival was cancelled altogether. There was no familiar of Traun's that carried the photographic evidence to the authorities, the police continued to know nothing about the gross indecencies that I had forced upon my underage stepson, and I saw no reason to let them in. Ciel tried to reach out to me from the moment I was placed under investigative custody, but I refused to see him. If I still attempted to upkeep my lie, I would say that I could not bear to see him again, but the truth was that I simply did not want to bother with it; I was too lazy. The Ciel I cared about was in the past. I learned that Agni, who could not believe in my guilt, took him in; how strange and uncomfortable it must have been, though not as uncomfortable as if he had known the true nature of my relationship with Ciel, and that all this time he had supported my felonies.

In the fourth week of February, after a month that was unusually warm, I watched through the window a premature butterfly that passed my prison cell. I wonder if it found shelter from the harsh snowstorm that followed a week later.

I could have pleaded guilty immediately, avoided a trial altogether, but being the narcissist I am, I wanted to share my story with you, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, and present you with a vivid image of what happened in these two and a half years that I was in Ciel's life, and how I blew it into smithereens time and time again. I needed to paint a picture of why the maximum penalty is the minimum for me, even though I made half-hearted attempts at saving Derek Traun and turned myself in immediately. I trust that the jury will make the best decisions for the abused child I leave behind, and that the prosecution will not prolong my expired existence by imposing an unnecessary additional trial on me. Ciel does not need to be pestered to testify against me. He does not need to live through everything again. He does not need me.

 _Does the non-believer believe in sin if there is no god to punish it?_ I asked Ciel once. _In this world of many gods, one god punishes the other's sins,_ he replied. Ladies and gentlemen, now it is your turn. Punish me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Another picture](http://nighttimeteaparty.tumblr.com/post/174636251784/this-is-not-my-fave-art-but-last-time-i-hesitated)


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ATTENTION!!!!!! Make sure you've read the previous chapter before you read this one! This is a double update, I posted chapter 23 and 24 at once. Initially, I had set the chapter counter for 24 in total but I decided to split this second-to-last update into two, so now it'll be 25. That means there will be one more final chapter after this.  
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Dear Ciel,

At the moment of writing these lines, I know that when they reach you, I will be no more. The manuscript as you have, I hope, read it by now, is the first and unrevised draft of the censored version that the jury would eventually read. Perhaps I have shocked you with the obscene nature of my descriptions of you and our moments of intimacy, but rest assured that they were just for you to read. It is, of course, up to you to do with this manuscript whatever you want, but until the moment you read the very first sentence, I can guarantee you that not even my lawyer was allowed to see it; he was instructed to only forward my confession to you, and I trust that he respected your privacy and mine. Where intercourse had to be mentioned in the revision, I stuck to crucial pillow talk and vague allusions. Your poem, I am afraid, I had to share, as I could not express in a thousand words what you conveyed in five lines.

Only a few chapters in, I knew that it was a confession to you primarily and to the jury only secondarily, and I chose to write it accordingly. I did my best to reveal the entire truth: All of my feelings, thoughts and intentions, no matter their quality, no matter how foolish, weak, or grotesque they were. They exist on paper to enlighten you, and to revolt you. Perhaps you have grown to hate me after all – part of me hopes you have – but I will tell you still that I am sorry. I am sorry for everything I have done to you, for every time I hurt you, for every time I broke your life, but most importantly, I am sorry for my ugly lie. It was for them and not for you. Do not ever forget what I asked you to remember. It will stay true forever.

The time that was left until my arrest was little and so much remained unsaid. I am sorry I did not grant you another opportunity to talk to me, but now that you know my reasons, I hope you will understand, and that all of your questions have been answered. I write to you at the end of my confession, instead of a separate letter, because I want you to read the whole disclosure of what I am and what I was before making my excuses.

Dear Ciel, you have your life ahead of you. Please find a reason to go on. Be selfish, be bold, and you will be magnificent. You are strong and you will heal. If you think there is no reason to go on, think of your parents, and of what they wished the future would hold for you. And if even that will not help you anymore, then think of me, and of my selfishness, and grant me this final wish, that you will live, if ultimately not for yourself, then at least for me. Do not let my sacrifice go to waste.

Ciel, tu es mon tout. Mon alpha et mon oméga, mon début et ma fin. Je sais maintenant que nous n'étions pas destiné perpétuellement, mais j'échangerais une éternité de béatitude ignorante pour la vérité courte et douloureuse que nous avions vécu. Ne te blâme pas; jamais. Rien n’a été de ta faute. C’est toi qui a réussi de me donner un but, et de faire de moi (si même seulement un peu) un homme meilleur. Il y a tellement de choses que je regrette; je t'ai blessé d'innombrables fois, j’ai pris de toi plus qu’il est possible de savoir. Et pourtant je ne regrette pas d'avoir décidé de rester, car depuis le moment fatidique où je t'ai rencontré, ma vie n'a jamais été comme auparavant. Pour tout ce que j’ai volé de toi et pour tout ce que tu m'as donné, merci.

En amour immortel,  
Sébastien

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't speak French but I really wanted Sebastian's final words to Ciel to be written in French, and ChromeHoplite was so kind to translate for me what I wanted him to say! Thank you so much! If you don't speak French either, you can copypaste it into Google translate or else wait for the final chapter because I'll put the English translation into the notes there right at the beginning.
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> Thank you to everyone that commented last time, I'm not kidding when I say that every single comment helps me get the job done a bit faster, and I really needed them, because this double-chapter was even more of a struggle than the one before. P-please let me know again what you think...


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last time, I promised I'd give you a translation of the French part in Sebastian's letter to Ciel, and here it is:
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> Ciel, you are my everything. You are my Alpha and my Omega, my beginning and my end. I know now that we were not meant to be forever, but I would trade an eternity of ignorant bliss to the short and painful truth that we had. And do not blame yourself; never do. Nothing is your fault. All you have ever done was give me purpose, and make a better man of me, if only a little. There is so much that I regret; I have hurt you countless times, taken more from you than you thought you ever had, and yet I do not regret that I decided on that fateful day that I would stay, as from the moment I met you, my life has never been like it was before. For all that I ever took from you, and for all that you ever gave me, thank you.
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> In immortal love,  
> Sebastian
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> Thanks again to ChromeHoplite for beta reading this chapter!
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> [Art for chapter 25](http://nighttimeteaparty.tumblr.com/post/175111787679/i-want-the-entire-world-to-know-that-sebastian)

               

Dear Sebastian,

I am fine now.

The last few years have been difficult – you can't imagine how difficult at times – but I am fine now. I've found my peace. However, I still hold it against you that you wouldn't see me even once during your time in confinement. It's not that I want answers – I've got plenty – but there is so much left that _I_ wanted to say, and those things only added up over time. That's why I'm finally writing you this letter.

So much has happened since you've been gone. Agni saved me from youth welfare, but you knew that already. I'm very thankful to him – he even paid for my tuition fee for a while, so I wouldn't have to change schools again. I think it was very difficult for him to have me around so long – I was a constant reminder of all the things wrong in his world. At first, it was not being able to do anything to bring you back. He refused to believe that you killed a man just so and was dead-set on helping you out. He knew Soma’s and your opinions on Undertaker, he knew that there was something fishy about your story, and carefully, very carefully, as not to hurt an orphan that was about to lose his third parent, he asked me for the truth. Initially, I didn't want to tell him anything, as I had already tried to talk to the authorities – to no avail. However, Agni kept pressing – both for your sake and mine, as he believed that if I told him what had really happened, he might be able to help us both. Eventually, however, I couldn’t bear staying silent anymore and told him. Not about you and me, but how a dying man came to stain both our hands red. Suddenly, Agni wasn't so eager to do everything possible to help you anymore. He understood your fear of revealing the truth.

You two were the same idiots. On that behalf, at least. Nothing would've happened to me. And even if – no matter what, it would've been fairer than the turn of events that followed.

The murder of Derek Traun received a lot of attention from the media. I don't know how much of the outside world you could observe, but you must've noticed the ridiculous amount of reporters following the trial – and you – from the beginning to the end. Your face was all over the news. The murder of a millionaire coupled with your looks and foreign background were a feast for the media. You were the _gentleman killer_ to them. You always looked so tired.

Everything got worse after your confession. Its content leaked to the press and the whole world learned that the alleged murderer Sebastian Michaelis raped his stepson for years. A sensation extraordinaire; from then, paparazzi would tail me wherever I went. But it didn't matter, I was well-protected against their attempts at intrusion: Soma and Sullivan picked up their old positions as my bodyguards again, and Agni chauffeured Soma and me to school everyday. Oh, Agni. Poor man. He never looked the same way at me again after I confirmed to him that we had been sexually involved. At first, I think, he struggled to believe it. He's a wonderful friend, very loyal. I still don't understand how you could grow so close to someone as genuinely good as him. With time came the realization that his valued colleague and good friend Sebastian really had slept with his underage ward for years, and of course, it hardly mattered that I insisted on my consent. He was so sorry that he hadn’t seen any signs, and that he had never stepped in.

I still don't fully understand what Agni thought of you, and of all that happened. I think he was in a moral pinch concerning you. I gave him your confession to read – I felt like I owed him this much. I'm sure he didn't agree with what you did, since objectively, it was nothing but horrible, but I'm also sure that he thought that you didn’t deserve to die. That was all I wanted at that point, for others to acknowledge that you shouldn't have died, neither for anything you ever did, nor for me. The people that I got that far didn't amount to more than two; Soma never forgave you anything.

Whatever his opinion of you; for me, all that Agni felt was sympathy. Sympathy. So much sympathy. Everyone pitied me, but all for the wrong reasons.

I missed you. I missed your stubble on my cheeks in the morning. I missed the cologne on your skin. I missed the ridiculously perfect tarts and madeleines that you made for me, and for me only, because you didn't even like sweets that much. I missed your smile and the hum in your voice when you kissed me goodbye in the morning and greeted me again in the afternoon. I even missed your stupid grin when I accidentally fed your ego too much. I missed always having a decent chess partner at home, I missed the beat of your heart when all else was still. I missed you so much, I wanted to scream it out for everyone to hear, but nobody would listen. I was sent to a psychoanalyst to help me resolve my trauma, but not even my therapist would listen. She would go on and on about how _we fear the unknown and prefer the horrors we're familiar with_ , doesn't that sound familiar? That I'd eventually understand that I didn't miss you, but the childhood that I'd lost to you. That's what everyone else told me too. _You can finally be a child now_. They just couldn't understand that I never wanted to be a child in the first place. This world is not made for children, and childhood is an excuse for adults not to take minors seriously.

_Let's give the children their own table so they don't bother us adults with their nonsense._

_I wish I could be a child again, not a single worry, except for the weather when I play with my friends._

_He's just a child, he doesn't know what he says, he'll know better someday._

I knew exactly what I said. _I miss him. I miss him. I miss him._ Of course you lot wouldn't understand. You weren't even trying.

The only one that wouldn't just brush me off without even giving me a chance was Sullivan. I think initially, she was even morbidly satisfied because of the confirmation of her suspicions of me, although soon, she looked at me with the same pity as the others whenever that topic came up. At least she acknowledged that I was capable of these emotions that the adults claimed for themselves, and that they weren't just a product of your abuse. And yet she didn’t understand.

To the world, you became the monster that you claimed to be. Your college removed your _Comparative History of French Literature for the English-Speaking Student_ from their list of recommended reads, but the English translations of your novels began to sell like crazy for their _freak factor_. Since the rights to them were passed on to me, at least I got good money out of people's sensationalism, and I could use it for my tuition fee, to take that burden at least from Agni.

I'm eighteen now, considered an adult by law, even though I'm not sure I feel maturer now than I did three years ago. Regardless, I hope that the magic number will help my message to finally be heard, as I am not a child anymore. If they do listen, they will learn that you planned none of this. That you died not to escape from, but to protect me. That you left me no choice but watch you atone for what I’d done.

You can’t stop me from telling the truth anymore. I want the entire world to know that Sebastian Michaelis wasn't a murderer, but a liar.

It wasn't even my intention. I just wanted to help you. I've thought it through time and time again and it should've worked out if you'd just been honest, and let me be honest too. Without your confession, they wouldn't have found out about us, after all. I did go to the police right the next day and told them what had really happened, but they were dead-set on your guilt, since you tried so hard to look guilty right from the beginning, and I was just a child. I had no chance to be heard. I wish you would've taken the opportunity to defend yourself but in the end, I guess, you really did think that I was better off without you. You drew the line between good and bad where I stained my hands with blood, didn’t you?

With your confession, my testimony turned into a joke. Of course, everyone believed that I was lying in your favor because I was just a brainwashed child. However, I was a _child_ , and I think they would've let me go if you'd told them the truth. We could've made up a little white lie on how it could come that far; that Undertaker just turned up at our house and got violent. Soma and Sullivan knew first-hand that he was crazy, and they would've supported our claims. The police didn't find the photos that Undertaker pressured you with until you revealed their existence in your stupid confession, and I'm sure there would've been a way to prevent their discovery if only you'd shut up.

They wouldn't have locked up a boy that defended his _father_. They would've understood that Undertaker was stronger than you, that he was much more furious than you described him, and that he choked you, despite me crying at him (and not at you) to let go, and trying to pull him away from you with all my force but failing, despite your face turning blue. I just wouldn't let him strangle you, I'm sure they would've understood. I should've taken something else, like a broom, and tried to knock him out, but there was no broom anywhere near, and I was stupid, hysterical, desperate. The letter opener was all I had. I didn't want to kill Undertaker. I just wanted to rescue you. In the end, I failed.

You’d told me what you'd lie to them, what you eventually said at the end of your confession. I knew it wasn't true and yet it hurt. It didn't hurt that you said you never loved me, or that you killed a man to be freed of me, because I knew that neither was true. What hurt was that they believed it, and that they thought they eliminated a monster, when actually, they murdered a man. A flawed man, very flawed, and yes, monstrous at times, but just a human at his core.

If only you'd been honest about the killing. We could've left America, lived together, died together. I wish you would've stayed selfish enough to at least make the third dream come true. You didn't understand that if all else had failed, that was what I really would've wanted. I still think it would've been a good end for us. You didn't protect me by denying me that option; you just hurt me one more time.

Maybe it was because you feared that you loved me more than I did you. I should've told you. I should've just told you. What was so difficult about it?

I loved you.

I loved you.

I loved you.

I loved you.

I loved you.

I loved you.

I still do.

You never raped my body; you only raped my heart. You left me no choice but to fall in love with you.

It wasn't love at first sight. I was very wary of you right from the beginning. I noticed that you were interested in me, although I couldn't yet imagine what kind of interest it was. I also realized that you were a narcissist that usually got what he wanted, and in my book, that's a dangerous combination.

It was just intercourse in the beginning. Fornication. Sodomy. Your timing had been perfect. I was awakening to my sexuality that summer, it almost drove me over the edge because I didn't know what to do about it, but then I felt your hands on my body and I knew that your touch was what I wanted. I knew it was wrong but it felt right. Nothing I could do to myself felt as right as being in your strong grip, being kissed by those lips of yours that spat so much conceited rubbish when they weren't busy with my body, coming by your hand or mouth, or your words of worship for the glow that you said spread across me after my climax. I was more suspicious of you than ever but you only did what I allowed you to do, and I thought I had everything under control. I knew it was atrocious of me to entertain your infidelity towards Mother like this, but at the time, I was bored, and maybe a little frustrated. All of my life, I had lived for the sake of others, wished for the sake of others, and dreamed for the sake of others. It was the first time that I wanted something just for myself, and I took it. The thrill of having an _adult_ secret like that weighed more than any moral concerns.

It wouldn't have come that far if I hadn't been attracted to you. Some of the kids at summer camp had been fooling around, and I was asked more than once if I didn't wanna try it too, but my answer was always a decided _no_. Maybe that was something that should've concerned me about myself, that the thought of sexual experimentation with peers gave me nothing, while at the same time, I fantasized about you desiring me, and acting on those desires. I didn't feel I had much in common with the other kids; you, on the other hand, seemed like a misfit in your own way, and we shared an intellectual intimacy like I never knew it before. Although my being a child was what you desired, I thought we had a connection beyond the limits of age. I felt maturer and emancipated; the secret we shared seemed to empower me.

I didn't love you yet but I felt drawn to you.

When Mother died, part of me felt like I killed her. It would take a year until I had my confirmation but I always knew that her death was somehow related to our liaison. In the blink of an eye, I was a child again; a child as powerless and helpless as I'd never been before. I blamed you as much as I blamed myself, but I knew then that I was lost to you. You were all I had left; all that still mattered to me.

I didn't love you yet but I needed you.

You became everything. With every time you told me that I was all that you ever wanted, and that there'd be nothing left of you if you lost me, you cut a little further into the safety rope of mine that was supposed to pull me out when I got in too deep. You filled every last corner of me that wasn't about you yet, soul and body, and since there wasn't much else left in me anyway, I welcomed your filling this emptiness. I had long crossed the border between sex just for pleasure's sake and the search for a familiar warmth in the touch of a familiar person, and the even warmer high that came afterwards. At that time, I had fully understood that I hadn't earned your sexual attraction to me with my assumed maturity of mind, but the immaturity of my body. I was scared you'd soon grow tired of me, yet I believed that part of you cherished me beyond my appearance, and that was what I clung to. On most days, I enjoyed our road trip. We spent more time together than most others could've ever borne to spend with one person; it was fun, we laughed a lot, and I got to see corners of the American continent I would've never seen otherwise. A personal closeness enriched our intellectual intimacy.

I liked you then.

As a child of thirteen, I saw in you the first one that ever understood me at my core; the first one that could really make me believe that there was purpose in me being me, with all of my flaws. When I had an opinion, you took it seriously, even when you disagreed with it. I was afraid I'd lose all of that with the maturation of my body, but at the same time, you never really treated me like a child. What they despised you for, what was probably wrong of you, and what you even regretted eventually, I appreciated of you: Despite your sexual perversions, you saw in me not just a child, but an equal, at least on most behalves.

I don't know when I started to love you. I didn't want to, and I didn't admit it to myself for a long time; maybe I didn't even understand it until it was too late.

I felt liberated once again when you told me that you looked forward to watching me age. You lifted a giant burden off my shoulders: I could finally shake off the assumption that my worth was defined by my youth, or age in general. At the same time, I finally found friends that I could open up to a little. You wondered whether it was because I had found the right people, or because I had matured enough; I think both were the case.

I don't think I was ever happier than during our time in Weston. I enjoyed the new routine of going to school, and feeling at place there. I also enjoyed coming home every afternoon to the house that you and I made our own. I felt safe with you. Moving there had been the result of your despicable crimes, but I wouldn't have changed a thing. I know that these are harsh words, and that I should feel guilty spelling them out in my role as a son, but I knew that the dead cannot be brought back and I will repeat without regret: I wouldn't have changed a thing.

I lied to myself just earlier; I did know then that I loved you, but I was scared of the consequences of admitting it.

I'm not as strong as you think I am. It wasn't right, _we_ weren't right, that's what I told myself, and although not a single fiber of me believed these words, they still scared me enough to disable me from telling the truth. When I knew I would lose you, I knew that it was wrong to lose you, I knew what I felt, but I still couldn't tell you. I hoped you knew but I knew that you only hoped.

When I was finally ready, when I wanted nothing more than tell you my most important truth, you wouldn't let me see you again. It was too late.

You asked me in your letter to go on, to find a purpose, to get over you, and heal. I did heal, but deep wounds leave behind scars. I'd looked for a purpose for years when I found my answer. You asked me to think of what my parents would've wanted me to get from life. I remember my mother telling me that she couldn't wait to see me at the altar, starting into a new life with an adorable girl. That's not too far away from what Undertaker suggested I should wish for. And you know that it's something I never wanted my life to be about. The purpose of life seems to be to procreate and die, to make place for others who procreate and then die. I find it sad to accept that as one's fate and not to question it, but at the same time, I fail to find a better purpose for myself. In our last year of high school, Sullivan asked me if we shouldn't marry since we got along so well, but I refused her. If marrying is her dream, I hope she will find someone she truly loves someday, and that loves her too; someone that will stand by her and her dream that I find more exciting: to find a cure for cancer. I admire her. She knows exactly what she wants from life, and she's willing to give it her all.

I'm not saying you were my only purpose because if I did, I would be a hypocrite to disregard the value of marrying and founding a family. What I can say, though, is that with you, I thought it perfectly fine to live without a purpose, but just for life's sake.

I did continue to write, I enjoy it and I think I've gotten decent at it, but I'm not sure if I'm doing it for myself or just to preserve your memory. I do find joy in the little things, like cool summer breezes, the warm glow of embers in a fireplace, or songs that remind me of you. The other day, I heard _Nature Boy_ again on the radio, and it made me laugh, just like it used to. I've been eating well; that's something you might be worrying about, since you always did. I learned to cook and bake, mostly for the purpose of making myself as many desserts as I want. Some of my teachers had advised me to change schools, since everyone learned what had happened and I drew a lot of attention, but I'm glad I was stubborn enough not to listen to them, because after a while, the people that pitied me stopped looking at me with sympathy, and the ones that called me a faggot for not speaking against you shut up (probably because of the rumor that I was secretly going steady with Sullivan). After a year, all was back to normal, and I mostly enjoyed going to school – as much as a teenager can enjoy going to school. The place's reputation helped me get into Oxford university; your college, even.

In the summer before my first Oxford semester, I explored Europe. I travelled by train; you were right, it's the much better option on this side of the ocean. I don't like driving that much anyway. You did well at fixing my accent, Frenchmen were usually surprised to hear that I'm American. In the south, they thought I was Parisian, and in Paris, the ones that noticed something odd about my pronunciation just guessed that I might be Franco-Canadian, out of a lack of better choices. I did finally taste red wine, but it was a bit underwhelming. I think I prefer milk.

In Paris, I stayed in your childhood home, which I inherited from you. I spent a week cleaning it, that's how dusty it was, even though there wasn't much of a point in doing that since I'd soon travel on anyway, but at least I found a few interesting things. Your late father had all of your books, I thought that was cute. I read them in what must've been your bed long ago. Is that a strange thing to do?

I really did it; I travelled from Southern France to Italy, from there through Austria and Southern Germany back to France again, and from there, I took a ferry to England. Finally, I'm in Oxford. It's a pretty city, a bit arrogant sometimes, though oddly homely, and _so_ old – just like you. All this time, I carried your last words with me. I've read them countless times. The pages have seen better days, and I've thought about transcribing them, but now, it doesn't matter anymore. I think I fulfilled our mutual dream, or at least I got as close to fulfilling it as I possibly could alone, didn't I? I hope you're happy; I am.

You said I gave you purpose. I should've asked you what made you go on for thirty-seven years without purpose. By that I mean, what's the point? Don't most of us just live because it's expected? Even if I inherited my father's and grandmother's sickness, I don't think anymore that I was meant to die young – I now refuse to take the position of a victim of fate. The truth is, _I_ just don't mean to live any longer. It's not that I can't, or that I'd be unhappy if I did. I could very well if I wanted to, but I don't see the point, and what I want is to be free. Free of expectations, free even of your expectations of me to grow... _gray and old_ is what I wanted to say, though I've always been gray, so there's that. I'm an adult now, I'm free to do with my life whatever I want; therefore, I am free to end it whenever I want as well.

I got myself a prescription for sleeping pills before I left the USA and saved the pills for the right moment. I am writing this letter on the day before my first regular day at university. I've participated in all of the orientation classes, met a few nice people, heard a professor insult a Cambridge colleague's take on his field of expertise (boy, academics can be nasty!) and saw the grand Bodleian library, and some of its little sisters too. Tomorrow, I'll attend my very first regular lectures, and in the afternoon, I'll sit down on the lawn in front of our college, with your tome of a confession and this letter in my arms, and take my sleeping pills. According to the weather forecast, it will be sunny tomorrow. I look forward to it; I've been waiting for this moment for more than two years.

Sometimes I wonder how differently all would've turned out if I had managed to hate you. But even though you gave me plenty of reasons, I knew as early as I knew that your words made Mother run into her death that I couldn't. Your initial degrading thoughts of me weren't new to me when you spelled them out in your confession, even though I might not have been able to see through you completely at twelve yet. Maybe you were the worst thing that could ever happen to me, but at the same time, you were the best thing I ever had. You've elaborated plenty on your many faults, so I won't go into any further detail on them. We don't speak ill of the dead anyway, do we? You were at my side during a time of great change for me, and I believe that it was a time of great change for you, too. Today, I like myself the way I am, and that is something I learned because of you. I agree with you – I wouldn't trade our time together for any form of ignorant bliss. I don't blame you for anything, and neither do I blame myself. Others have suffered from us. As a son and as a friend, it's despicable of me to say so, but I regret nothing. Of course, I'd prefer it if outsiders hadn't been harmed, but I cherish the wounds that you inflicted on me, and those I inflicted on you. I will always prefer a reality with over one without you.

Considering the early end that I chose for myself, one could argue that you did destroy me after all. I said that I'll do it to set myself free, but I don't doubt that some will argue that I'll have died to be closer to you, and therefore instead of freeing myself, I just prove that I will never be free of you. I wanted to claim that it's not because of you that I want to end my life, because you didn't ruin me, but I don't think I can fool anyone. Of course, I want to end my life because of you. However, it's not because you ruined me. You wounded me, harmed me, and yes, with your passing, you threw me to pieces, but you never destroyed me. You were never a good person, but with time, you became good to me, and even good _for_ me. You didn't fix me but you gave me the means to fix myself. You've become my everything as much as I've become yours, and although I don't believe in the afterlife, I'm more than glad to become one with you again in the nothingness of death. As I said, I never planned to live this long in the first place. Had it not been for you, it would've been over for me after mother’s death. The reason why I lived on even after you left was you: to make our mutual wish come true, to follow your traces back and understand your roots a little better, but most of all, because you wished for me to live. I'm sorry I won't continue to fulfill your final wish, though I hope you'll understand that I want to be selfish just one more time. Instead of living for myself, I've decided to die for myself.

I appreciate that you cut out the risqué parts from your final confession, because if you hadn't, I would've dug you out and kicked you in your dead bone butt. Nevertheless, I've decided against censoring your original confession again. At this point, I don't care anymore, or maybe your perversions have rubbed off on me and I do want all of it to be read when I am found.

It’s easy to ponder over what we should’ve done differently; what we should’ve avoided so we could still be together today. _What if your notebook had never existed. What if we’d spent less money. What if we’d gone to the police before the enemy could ever set foot in our house. What if we’d closed the curtains whenever we slept with each other._ But all it does is make me miserable. Although I still catch myself spinning _what ifs_ in my mind, I've come to accept that just like we can’t bring back the dead, we cannot turn back time either, and we’re always smarter afterwards. Instead, I should appreciate what I have and what I had. Do I still hurt? Yes. But I’m fine now. I don’t blame myself, and I don’t blame you either. If everyone else in this world blames you, I find solace in being the one that doesn’t.

You, too, are my end and my beginning, and everything in between. Despite how flawed you were, and I was too; despite how abnormal we were, or maybe because of all of that, we forged in less than three years a bond as intimate as little others can forge in a whole lifetime. When a relationship is based on the premise of secrecy, it ties the ones that share the secret together. Our dirty secret was discovered, and the human gods have judged us. Most gods that man has created are cruel; I hope, however, that there will be one kind god, just one, that will read all of what we leave behind, and understand – not approve, or even tolerate, but just understand – that despite all of our faults, we had our merits too, and our love was true.

There’s a million things left that I want to tell you, but it’s late, I’m growing tired, and in the end, it all boils down to this: Thank you for taking more from me than I ever thought I had, thank you for taking what I gave you. Thank you for showing yourself to me without reservations, thank you for making me able to see myself too, thank you for everything _you_ gave _me_. Thank you too.

Yours forever,  
Ciel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this story to the very end. I started writing it almost exactly two years ago, and back then, I wasn't even sure I'd have the attention span to write more than the first four chapters or so. Surprise, I pulled through, and I didn't ever think I'd enjoy it this much.
> 
> If you haven't read Lolita yet, and you like books that are beautifully written but grotesque, I strongly recommend you to read it. The movies are no replacement for what the book can do. Seriously, I'm not just saying this because that's what all people say in movie vs. book discussions (the second one is sort of my guilty pleasure, because the costumes and overall aesthetics are just to die for); The Kubrick version is just vastly different from the source material and the 1997 movie cut out Humbert Humbert's worst moments, so that all that's left is what makes him look like a better person than he is. My version is obviously guilty of romanticising the source material too; although I never tried to justify anything that happened in my fanfic, Ciel was in a better position than Lolita, and Sebastian didn't take anywhere as much freedom from Ciel as HH did.
> 
> I have a problem: I have too many creative hobbies. Drawing and now writing take up most of my time (like, really A LOT of time, I'm glad I have an early summer break this year so I could put a lot of time into finishing Ciel), but there's also fashion and a bit of photography, and I'll unite all of them in my next fanfic. I don't know yet how long it will be, but it won't be a very serious one, and definitely not comparable to this one. Regardless, I'd be happy if I saw a few readers that aren't averted to silly sebaciel return. Eventually, I'll write something more serious again - I've wanted to write a 1920s Budapest post-monarchy AU for years, but when I first had that idea, I had zero (0) writing experience and now that I've completed an entire multichapter fic in the length of a book, I think I'll be able to pull it off. But first, silly Instagram influencer AU.
> 
> God, I feel like my mind-baby is growing up. It will be hard to let go of this story. I'll definitely keep thinking of it for a long time. At least now I don't have to be afraid anymore of dying in an accident before completing this fic haha!
> 
>  
> 
> I edited the author's notes of previous chapters to link the respective drawings that I made for them. There's some art that I drew for this fanfic that wasn't for any chapters in particular. The following is a list of all the ones that I could find:  
> [Quick sketch](http://nighttimeteaparty.tumblr.com/post/171905872624/ciel-from-my-fanfic-probably-wouldnt-wear-that)  
> [I really like this one](http://nighttimeteaparty.tumblr.com/post/172655026344/i-wasnt-sure-if-i-wanted-to-paint-art-for-my)  
> [Les Fleurs du Mal](http://nighttimeteaparty.tumblr.com/post/172459392609/lolita-au-ciel-reads-that-in-french-of)  
> [Sebastian's head is in a weird position and too large but it was a ballpoint pen drawing and I like Ciel's legs](http://nighttimeteaparty.tumblr.com/post/170837738334/ciels-most-childish-trait-was-perhaps-his-sugar)  
> [Ciel's squad](http://nighttimeteaparty.tumblr.com/post/173604813789/sullivan-does-sebastian-never-complain-when-you)  
> [Another ballpoint pen doodle](http://nighttimeteaparty.tumblr.com/post/170199070889/a-ballpoint-pen-sketch-with-my-lolita-au-fanfic-in)  
> [This one is nice](http://nighttimeteaparty.tumblr.com/post/168961221219/me-me-i-will-draw-something-for-my-next-fanfic)  
> [Scrapped first attempt at a picture for chapter 25](http://nighttimeteaparty.tumblr.com/post/175174441624/this-is-a-scrapped-picture-for-chapter-25-i)  
> [This is probably uncomfortable but Aesthetics](http://nighttimeteaparty.tumblr.com/post/174763083224/when-i-do-light-studies-i-usually-exchange-people)


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